Long Way from Home
by Irbis
Summary: Curiosity killed the cat. Sabretooth cats, though, are way too deadly to worry about curiosity. But what is this Sabretooth, aka Victor Creed, going to do when curiosity mingles with stubborness? Complete
1. Prelude

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 0**

**Prelude**

It was a beautiful spring day. The train sped through the city, offering its passengers glimpses of the city parks and their sakura trees, gently caressed by the wind which stole their delicate white flowers. It wasn't the rush hour, but the train still had some passengers, who quietly awaited their stop. Suddenly, there was a flash of light.

Almost immediately, the people sprang to their feet and got as far away as possible from the explosion. Fortunately for them, it hadn't been a true explosion, and as their eyes recovered from the blinding light, they could see a group of people where, just a few seconds ago, there had been no one.

The frightened passengers looked at the foreign men in strange uniforms who surrounded a young black woman. Two men came closer to one end of the train carriage while other two went to the other end of the carriage, the places where the passengers had crammed into one another. A fifth man stayed with the woman as if guarding her.

The whole procedure was fast and effective. The men took advantage of the people's confusion and herded them closer to the woman. The dumbfounded passengers stared at the men who spoke to them in English and who threatened them with guns, which made them stumble over to where the black woman was waiting. Two teenager girls started crying and a scared mother held on to her toddler. A man tried to face them but was quickly taken out, which kept the three teenage boys from actually doing anything other than staying close to the crying girls, in a vain attempt to protect them.

When they were all in position, a new flash of light enveloped them, blinding all but the men in uniform, who wore shades. Just as the light subsided, the train came to a stop and opened its doors, allowing the passengers to board the now empty carriage.

-------------------------------------------

It was a beautiful spring day. The sun shone brightly on the ebbing waters of the wide Tagus River. The Easter was just a few days away, but already Lisbon's newest train station was revolved by incoming visitants. Some were Portuguese immigrants coming home for the holidays, others were young Spanish people enjoying the Easter holidays for a quick tour of their neighbour, Portugal. And then there were the locals, some of which planned to spend a relaxing day shopping at the Mall next to the station and strolling through the long gardens planted by the Tagus' margin. The cafés had already set tables and chairs outside their establishments, on the paved streets which worked as an extension of the actual buildings. Young people sat sunbathing while waiting for the attendants to bring their orders. Suddenly, there was a flash of light.

People sprang to their feet and waited for their eyes to recover to see what was going on. Some started to walk away at a fast pace, almost jogging; others stayed on, curious to find out what had just happened. As they recovered, they could see five men in strange uniforms and a black young woman amidst them. The ones closer to the incident almost didn't move, too surprised to do anything else besides watching with blank, confused or curious expressions. Then the men started moving.

The whole procedure was fast and effective. They only paid attention to those closer to them, taking advantage of their confusion and grabbing them by an arm just to shove them at the woman's feet. They were mostly young people. Two girls were grabbed and their boyfriends tried to attack the men, but they were immediately taken out, and the girls were thrown over them, on the paved floor. One girl who had been reading dropped her book and made a dash for safety, but she was stopped by a strong arm which picked her up as if she wasn't heavier than a feather. Two more boys, teenagers who had fallen off their skates, were lifted up in the air and brought nearer to the black woman. In the mean time, some men had started calling out to the foreign men while coming in quick strides to help their victims, but it was already too late.

Just as suddenly as the first explosion, the would-be saviours were blinded by the light which enveloped the foreigners and their victims. As the light subsided, the TVs inside the now empty restaurants and cafés started their one o'clock news bulletins with the strange kidnappings that had hit Japan, India and Germany that same morning and which were yet to be explained or claimed by any terrorist group.


	2. The Compound

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 1**

**The Compound**

It was a new moon night, and the darkness enveloped everything in its late spring coolness. Amidst the towering trees, one man carefully watched a small log cabin. It was apparently abandoned, but the man knew better. There were faint scents in the air that revealed the existence of a metal underground building.

"Ya'd think a complex right in the middle o' nowhere would be enough for these assholes to feel safe," he mumbled to himself, "but no! They just had to go an' make themselves a nice little early grave!"

He moved away from the cabin a couple of miles. He remembered the blueprints he had had access to, and carefully avoided the emergency exits he knew were scattered on a 5 mile radius from the cabin, the compound's main entrance and only spot where an air-borne transport could land. Finally, he found what he had been looking for – an air vent. He smiled to himself as he swiftly entered the vent. This was almost too easy!

He had learnt about the compound by chance. When he had escaped from the Weapon X Program, he had brought a disk holding data on a great number of mutants. There were many mutants on the list, and some names, or powers, caught his eye; so he had taken note of any information he had considered relevant. A mutant in particular, a black girl by the name of Naomi Pearson, had made him cock an eyebrow and read the scant information on her with more attention.

She was now 19 and had lived with her parents in Detroit until she was 16. At that age, her powers had manifested and she had suddenly disappeared. She had been spotted by the authorities just a year ago in New York. What attracted Sabretooth's attention was that she was marked as being of great importance because of her unique powers: she could slide between dimensions and take people with her. Although he wasn't sure of the exact meaning or importance of her powers, the simple fact that she was important to the big shots made her a worthy target. However, her whereabouts were unknown and, at the time, he had had more pressing matters at hand… such as finishing off other mutants the Program had its eyes on, harassing the Program's agents and, last but certainly not the least, tormenting Logan by targeting his foster daughter Amiko.

Unfortunately, when he had decided to sell the data to the highest bidder (which would have made him filthy rich), the Program sent Agent Zero to capture him and then they had a mental block put on him so he couldn't go about running rogue again. It was then he had discovered that Dr. Windsor wasn't just your everyday secret-program's-doc. That knowledge gave him a much necessary window of opportunities to escape the compound once again, avoiding being captured by the just-promoted-new-head-of-the-show. But, more importantly yet, it gave him the opportunity to find out about the other compound.

Apparently, the sweet Dr. Windsor, who was saving mutants from the death row and feeding them to his own horror show, had a particular interest in the Naomi Pearson girl. In fact, he was so interested in her he had put his own spies out to find her. And he had.

According to Windsor's files, Naomi Pearson had been captured and delivered to another secret department which was researching a way to keep the genes from mutating. They didn't just want to 'cure' mutants; they wanted to know what makes genes mutate, so that they could eliminate the problem at its source. And the girl was of great importance because she could take them to dimensions where there weren't any mutants at all. They had gone to this dimension, designated as Human Earth because it wasn't infested with mutants, and brought with them a few loads of people. They were currently testing them and were trying to understand why these humans didn't originate the X-gene plaguing all the other dimensions; and Windsor was very obviously following their research with great interest, even if, as far as Sabretooth knew, he hadn't yet got his hands on genetic samples.

Creed, however, hadn't like this news. What would those government dickheads try to do once they found out how to keep mutants from being born? And what if they found a way to erase the X-gene, turning every mutant into normal humans again? That would affect him. Sabretooth was in no way interested in getting ripped from his enhanced senses, his healing factor or his retractable claws.

Even as he lurked in the bowels of the Weapon X compound, waiting for the ex-Morlock Marrow, he was carefully considering all the data he had gathered from Windsor's files and planning the complete termination of the secret genetic program. "These things are worse than cockroaches" he had mused to himself, "but I'm just the man to terminate them once and for all."


	3. Naomi Pearson

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 2**

**Naomi Pearson**

Sabretooth's priority was finding the Naomi girl. He slowly made his way through the air vents. Every now and then he would stop and listen to the men moving about in the corridors, chatting over everyday matters. Sometimes though, they'd drop some valuable information. And as he criss-crossed the compound, he marked some key spots with a powerful explosive material.

The whole process was terribly slow, though, and he was only too happy when he finally reached the last floor of the underground building. By now he had picked up two important details that the blueprints hadn't given him. First, his target was in a high security chamber and pinned on this dimension by a restraining collar that stopped her from using her powers. These were good news. Secondly, the human-lab-rats were divided in groups at the other end of the facility. These were annoying news. He had hoped to kill everyone in one sweep, leaving the guards and big shots for last. Oh, well; it could be worse. He'd just leave the low-genes for last.

Screwing up some more patience, Sabretooth got comfortable to wait for the night. Spending half a night and a whole day cooped up in such a small place while being as quiet as possible was making him itch to burst out and put an end to those geeks. But he waited. He smiled to himself while imagining the mayhem that was soon to break loose… And he waited.

It took a few more hours, but the whole place eventually became still. The last level had its own vigilance room and Sabretooth located an air vent grid that led to it. He used his adamantium claws to cut a hole into the corridor, right next to the door of the security room, which didn't have a camera. After all, why did a security room need a camera guarding its door, right? He slid down and stretched his poor sore limbs before putting an ear to the door. Complete silence came from within. Well, it wasn't really complete silence: Sabretooth could hear the guard's breathing. It was the even, relaxed breathing of a sleeping man; accompanied by a few slight snores every now and then. Boy, was this going to be easy!

The door opened slowly, giving him time to take in everything that was inside the room. There weren't any cameras inside. Sabretooth hesitated. This wasn't easy; this was a complete rip off! Were these guys amateurs or what? Oh, well, so much the better for him. He glanced about once more, trying to check for any hidden cameras. But no, the whole place was clean. And the security was still enjoying his quiet slumber. Sabretooth got himself behind the man and slit his throat with a quick movement, making the body roll to the side, where it would remain hidden from the prying eyes of anyone that peeked from the door. Then he paid attention to the security camera's images.

The Naomi girl was at the end of the North wing… which happened to be just down the corridor. The lab-rats were at the end of the South wing, which was further away, past the several labs. They were separated into four rooms. Sabretooth counted 14 guys stuffed in a room; 6 women in a very large, comfortable room which included 7 small beds for children; 4 women in a smaller but equally comfortable room; and 6 more women in a last not so comfortable room. Sabretooth looked at those three rooms more carefully, wondering what was up with the little queens. They were all comfortably asleep, or so it seemed, each in her own bed, while the guys were stuck with mattresses scattered all over the floor. Weird. Definitely weird. But not important.

Sabretooth ran the few meters that separated the security room from the mutant's chamber. Once there, he quickly punched in the code to open the cell door. The young woman was asleep, wrapped in a blanket; but the whisper of the sliding door was enough to awake her. She turned around and her eyes went wide in shock.

"What… Who... Are you… Are you here to rescue me?"

Sabretooth grinned as he entered the room.

"Fer someone who spent I don' know how many years on the street, kid, ya sure are naïve!" The girl went pale and froze. "Le' me guess: ya still believe in the Easter Bunny, right?"

She was shivering, her fear surrounding her like a pleasant perfume, when he ripped her throat. She let out a terrified whizzing sound as she tried to get some air into her lungs; but his claws found their way into her entrails and the pain turned off whatever life she still had.

Having aced their door-into-the-low-gene-world, Sabretooth went back to the corridor and found the elevator, which was the only contact point between the lower level and the upper levels. He hit the button to call the elevator and waited, chuckling to himself at how easy this all was. Probably, the guards upstairs were as much asleep as the one in the security room had been… and they'd soon be as dead, too! He was calmly leaning on the wall when the elevator beeped, signalling its arrival, and opened the door. The scent of armed men assaulted him the moment the doors start sliding apart and he didn't have time for anything but leaping at them, being shot only half a dozen times before landing amidst them, slashing away. They were all down and bleeding, a few torn limbs here and there, in a heartbeat. Well, so much for the surprise element! But anyway, a good fight was always more invigorating… Sabretooth quickly pushed the men out of the elevator and hit the button for the first floor. Oh yeah, this made for a much more interesting night, alright!

He plunged into the mass of soldiers awaiting him, ripping, thrashing, slicing and slashing. He didn't bother to kill them all, as his aim was simply to render them harmless as fast as possible. And they'd soon be dieing from the injuries, anyway.

He made his way to the head-office, where all the big shots should probably be hiding and calling for backups. As he had turned the first three corners, Sabretooth had met with more men in uniform, but when he got to the large double door of the main room in the facility, there wasn't anyone else in sight. His nose, though, warned him that there were plenty of people inside. He looked up at the security camera and grinned.

"Ya can lock all the doors, lil' boys, but I'm gonna get ya anyways!"

He quietly walked away. He kept an open eye for the cameras and tried to guess some dead angles. When he found one, more or less between two of the cameras, he leaped up to the ceiling and used his adamantium claws to rip an entrance into an air vent. Then he crawled the short distance that separated him from his targets. He glanced inside. The scientists were going about nervously, contacting with the outside and begging for expedient backups. About twenty soldiers had their arms aimed at the door. A few others, probably their superiors, were arguing near the security monitors over Sabretooth's whereabouts. He extended a claw and cautiously weakened the screws that kept the air vent grid in its place.

With a powerful push, the grid came crashing down and Sabretooth followed it. It took only four seconds to take out the soldiers. Then he rushed for their superiors, who were shooting him with pistols. They didn't take much longer. The scientists and their assistants, still wearing their pyjamas and night gowns, were crying and praying, only a few managing to stay cool. He came closer and sat himself on a chair close to the communication's centre.

"Now, let's have us a nice, little pow-wow, shall we?" And he grinned maliciously. "You there, baldy; who d'ya call and when d'ya expect 'em ta get here?"

The man faced him, eye-to-eye, and said nothing. A couple of women behind him started whimpering louder.

"Is there anyone here who's willin' ta talk?"

He growled when no one said anything. He got up and caught the bald man by the neck.

"Ya gonna start tellin' me what I wanna know?"

The man spit on Sabretooth's face and immediately he's own face disappeared, leaving only a scratched mass of flesh with long white streaks of bone under it. The yelling broke out in a shrill tone that made Sabretooth's teeth cringe. Growling, he grabbed the guy closest to him by the collar; but even before he had had time to say or do anything else, the young man was already begging to reveal everything, anything… Sabretooth looked at him in disgust as he smelled his victim peeing himself.

"Start talkin'."


	4. The Lab Rats

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 3**

**The Lab-rats**

When Sabretooth left the facility's main communication centre, he was a happy man. Backups would only arrive well after dawn… and dawn was still four hours away. He had blown the cover of Sinister's mole as well as his head, once he had made sure that Sinister hadn't been warned about the little incident that was currently going on. There weren't any genetic samples from the Naomi girl going around… not even Sinister's mole had managed to send out a sample to his employer. And the same could be said about the low-genes working as lab rats. Yupe, things were going smoothly.

He hadn't bothered to waste time on the results of the experiments going on down below. After all the scientists had been killed, Sabretooth strolled on his way to the elevator. The moment he finished the other-dimension-humans, he'd be able to blow the place to smithereens and walk away. When he got to the elevator, though, he froze. He could smell the track of several people that had used it. Many people.

Without loosing another second, he went down to the last level and ran to the South wing rooms. Several men had been shot and there were also women and children's bodies left behind. Swearing, he ran back into the elevator. The moment he arrived to the first level, he followed the trail out of the complex. Outside, he could smell the smoke of the cars' exhaust pipes in the pristine environment. He had remained almost half an hour with the damned scientists. They could be miles away! He growled, frustrated, and started off on the cars' trail. Fortunately, the jeeps would have to go slowly in the woods. When he got a few miles from the main entrance, he got out a detonator and set off the bombs he had previously planted all over the facility's air vents. He felt the ground tremble under his feet, and swore once more, remembering the runaways. They should all be down there being blown apart into ipsy tiny bits. He set off again at his usual fast pace.

-----------------------------------------------------

Almost two hours after having left the complex, Sabretooth found one of the jeeps crashed into a tree. The soldier who had been driving had died with the impact. Scattered around, were other bodies. One teenage girl seemed to have broken her neck when the car had hit the tree, while three men had been shot; one of them was a soldier, the other two were low genes. The humans had probably tried to take over the soldiers, Sabretooth mused, causing the accident. With the accident, the driver and the girl had died. After that, one man had been shot in the back when trying to escape into the woods; the other human had tried to wrestle the soldier with the gun. In the fight, the soldier had got shot but had managed to kill the human; however, he had ended up dieing from blood loss. Nevertheless, two of the passengers were still alive and running around in the woods.

Sabretooth decided to go after the other two cars, which were further ahead, and leave the two low genes for now. After all, they were in the middle of nowhere; they had no chances of surviving. He might as well let the woods do his dirty work for him. And so he moved on.

------------------------------------------------

Dawn would break soon; Sabretooth could feel it in the air. Some birds were already moving about, getting ready to let out their songs in a chaotic chirping competition among themselves. Sniffing the air, he realized that the two jeeps he had been hunting down had stopped. He could notice the different scents of several people… and he could smell the unmistakable perfume of blood. He moved in, quickly and silently.

Before the birds started their morning racket, he heard them talking, arguing, threatening… There were some bodies piled up near a tree, and three teenage girls were whimpering and being comforted by two women and a teenage boy. One soldier kept warning them not to try anything stupid, pointing at the bodies as an example of what would happen to them. In the pile were the bodies of two men and two young women. Another soldier was having his arm bandaged by a colleague. A fourth soldier was swearing loudly while trying to use the radio; but the darned thing caught nothing but static.

Sabretooth knew he had to be quick. Once the reinforcements arrived, they might want to pull a search-and-recover operation in the facility's surrounding area, and he still had to make the low genes' bodies disappear.

He brought himself as close as possible without giving away his presence… which was very close indeed. He jumped the soldiers in a casual and emotionless way. One hand reached to his left, getting a fierce hold of a soldier's head, his claws easily penetrating his skull; the other hand reaching to his right and another's soldier breast, clutching his claws around his heart. The soldier trying to fix the radio swore and grabbed his weapon, which was on the seat next to him; but his colleague, who had been guarding the humans, was faster and started firing first. However, when Sabretooth had charged he had made sure to put himself between these last two. So when the human's guard started firing, Sabretooth simply ducked a bit, allowing for the soldier behind him to receive a handful of bullets. Then he leaped and landed on the last standing soldier, his right hand crushing the man's windpipe.

The girls and the women had started screaming the moment the shooting began; but they halted themselves once the killing stopped. The oldest looking woman, scared as she might be, tried to talk with Sabretooth in English, but her foreign accent was so strong and her English vocabulary and grammar so broken that he couldn't understand what she was saying. The boy then came to her rescue, although his English was also far from perfect.

"You is… are… You are to save… we? You make we… You make we liberty?"

Sabretooth cocked an eyebrow.

" Liberty? Oh, ya wanna know if I'm here ta set ya free?"

The boy, obviously unsure of what the blonde giant was saying, waved his head uncertainly but hopefully, signalling a "yeah, I think so".

Sabretooth gave them a wide grin.

"Oh, yeah; I think ya could say I'm here ta 'set ya free'!"

He almost laughed, but he had decided to hold himself, as the people weren't particularly convinced of their "saviour's" good intentions.

"Come on, then. And get in this jeep, here."

Sabretooth walked up to the jeep in the rear and patted its hood, but no one moved. Sabretooth breathed in deeply, and gave it another try, adjusting his talk to the people's obvious idiocy.

"You… get… in… the jeep." And he pointed to the car he had in mind. "NOW!"

That got the humans moving. While they decided where to sit, Sabretooth casually threw the other humans' bodies on the back of the jeep. Then he got the fuel gallons that these sort of military vehicles always carry around and secured them all in the one he had singled out. Soon afterwards, he was driving it cautiously back to the other car, which was yet a few miles away. The boy was sitting next to him while the two women and the three girls were on the rear, close to the dead bodies. Although he could still smell their fear, they were slightly more relaxed; possibly because no one had tried to kill or hurt them… yet. And Sabretooth couldn't help but grin.

------------------------------------------------

The image of the crashed car and of the bodies sent the humans in another fit of terror. Sabretooth rolled his eyes, feeling his patience quickly coming to an end.

"They're DEAD, dammit! It ain't like they gonna get up an' eat ya, is it? Now getta work! Grab 'em by the legs an' arms and put 'em all up in a nice little pile, got it?"

The humans continued to look at the scene with terrified expressions. Two teenager girls started crying. Sabretooth lost his patience. Deciding against wasting time with words, he pulled the boy nearer to a body and made him grab a dead arm, which the boy immediately dropped in disgust. Sabretooth growled at him and again put the dead man's arm in the boy's hands.

"Don't. Drop it. Am I clear?"

As poor as the boy's English might have been, the big blonde's intention was crystal clear, and he held to that arm as if it were his ticket to safety. Now that the boy was starting to behave, he turned to the female part of the bunch and inhaled deeply, trying to get some patience in. He signalled for one of them to come forth. The woman who seemed to be the oldest, probably around her late thirties, got the hint and braved her fear by coming nearer to Sabretooth, shuddering all the way. He signalled her to help the boy, even offering the dead man's leg to her. She swallowed and held it.

"Now, bring the corpse over here."

Sabretooth was now standing near the body of the girl that had been thrown out of the car when it had crashed against the tree. The boy and the woman looked at one another; then they looked at the body they were partially holding; and then they again looked at Sabretooth before looking at themselves a second time. Sabretooth was ready to just finish the whole lot of idiots right there and then, but fortunately for them the awkward pair started to slowly drag the man's body in the required direction.

"I want all them bodies brought ta this place, right here. Am I being clear?"

The boy and the woman stopped their work to look at the fierce looking giant.

"All them bodies, see?" And he motioned his hands around him, pointing at the corpses. "I want 'em all here. OK?" He heard nothing but silence. "I said, OK?"

The darned humans looked around in a doubtful way. The two whimpering girls further off were starting to really annoy him, but the boy came to their rescue.

"Ahhh… The man… ahhh… I… we… go…"

As worthy as the boy's effort might be, the constant stuttering was starting to annoy Sabretooth.

"He…" The boy pointed at the dead man he was holding, but then he changed his mind and pointed at other bodies. "They… go… ahhh" And since he didn't seem likely to find any other fitting word, he pointed to where Sabretooth was standing and repeated himself like an idiot.

"They go…", while pointing to the right spot again and again.

Sabretooth almost roared:

"YES! That's it! They go here! Finally, dammit!" He tried to control himself a bit longer. "Hey, you four back there. Yeah, you. You help them. Got it? You… help… them."

The woman and the three girls started moving ever so uncertainly, but that seemed enough to satisfy him.

"Good. That's it." He turned back to the boy. "Hey, kid. I'm goin' someplace, but I'll be right back, ya understand? I'll be right back. You and yer friends just get the bodies all in a nice pile over there, OK? Bodies go there. And I'll be right back."

Having set them all to work, Sabretooth got into the woods, sniffing around for the tracks of the two that had got away. He followed the tracks for some ten minutes. He noticed the size of the feet and decided that he was following two women wearing some sort of slippers that didn't give much of a protection. One of them didn't seem to be used to going about in the woods, as she made a really easy track to follow: not minding where she stepped, breaking and tossing anything on her way, sometimes slipping or bumping into stuff. The other one, though, was more conscious of her surroundings and made an effort to fit in, avoiding leaving such a track as the most stupid could follow. More importantly yet, this second one knew where she was going. She was obviously the leader of the party; and after a bit of going about almost in circles she had decided to go south… and south she had kept going, with slight lapses quickly fixed.

Sabretooth smiled to himself. Now here was some interesting game. He was going to enjoy hunting down this pair! Feeling satisfied with himself, he turned back to the accident site. The sight of the humans sitting together at a safe distance from the dead bodies all piled together, only contributed for his satisfaction and good mood.

"Well, well! A good job indeed. Now, come ye all here."

Although still being a bit wary of the big man, the six humans got closer to him and to the pile of bodies. Having them all in place, Sabretooth grinned and quickly reached for the older woman's and the boy's necks, breaking them before anyone knew what was going on. The two girls to their right went next, and they hardly had time to let out a yelp. The last girl fell to screaming, without even trying to make a run for it; Sabretooth simply slashed her throat and leaped after the last standing woman, who had tried to run but hadn't got more than a few feet away before he got a hand on her neck, breaking it and efficiently killing her.

"An' ya can thank yer lucky stars I'm in such a good mood ta finish ya all nice an' easy." He told the dead woman's body as he threw it onto the pile.

Sabretooth fixed the recent corpses next to the older ones before going to the jeeps and getting the gallons of fuel. Then he soaked the bodies quite thoroughly. Once the fuel had all been wasted on the dead people, he got out a cigar and lit it with a match, which was disposed of, still burning, onto the soaked bodies. The flames flared instantly, roaring above his head. He idly considered the thought of the human bonfire spreading to the woods, but there had been rains rather recently, not to mention that the grounds were still wet from the melting snow; so he ignored the possible threat and went after the two remaining runaways.


	5. Road Blocks

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 5**

**Road Blocks**

They were driving on a lonely wide road surrounded by woods. The speed was much greater, now, and the windshield had been placed in its proper place again, although it offered little protection from the wind. The Wrangler might be one of the best cars to face a rough road-less terrain, but it was not a pleasant ride for a normal road: too windy, too uncomfortable, too jumpy, too easy to escape the driver's control if he sped too much. Nope, not a fun drive. Sabretooth couldn't wait to ditch the vehicle. On top of it, the radio didn't get anything and there were no CDs around. Not even a lonely old-fashioned cassette.

Sabretooth was swearing under his breath, annoyed at everything and anything. At least the kid sat smartly silent. He almost forgot she was there for a while. But then he saw the road block.

"Dammit!"

She went rigid in her seat, fear surrounding her like an expensive perfume. The cops started signalling for him to pull over. He had expected something of the sort. The Project he had just spoiled was being subsidized by someone with good connections, and the big guys wouldn't let all of their lab-rats run away just like that. They couldn't tell how many of the humans had been buried within the complex; but they could count the carbonized bodies out in the woods, and they could follow tracks… So, they'd find out sooner or later that two of the humans had escaped, and that they'd found two guys, and that they'd taken off with their jeep. Sabretooth never expected them to know about the exact number of live runaways or about the dead guys right away, but it sure stood to logic that a few road-blocks might find some runaways trying to get themselves a ride to safety.

"Good evenin', sir."

The three men came closer, two on Sabretooth's side and one on the girl's side. They looked cautiously and intensively at the two of them. Sabretooth had planned on just showing the car documents using Kinston Jr.'s name and then showing off the happy wife-and-kid-family hurrying to get somewhere. Only the darned German woman was as useless dead as if she had been alive, and the kid was as useless alive as if she had been dead. And he wasn't feeling like pretending. His mind couldn't even bring up the good reasons that had delayed the woman's death, or why the kid was still breathing. His well-thought out plan was miles away and he felt like just killing everybody that might show up in front of him.

"Your documents, please."

Sabretooth decided on killing the guys right there and then. So what if that would bring unwanted attention and maybe even a batch of goons on his trail; he'd just kill them all too! Damn it, why were people always so annoying! His claws were already coming out and he was about to slash the man's throat when a voice at his side froze him still.

"He can't."

The three men looked at the girl, not noticing the big blonde's claws. Sabretooth sheathed them immediately, glaring at the girl who followed her initial statement with a somewhat studied stuttering.

"He… can't give you de documents. I… I'm afraid I… I lost dem."

Sabretooth could smell her fear and notice the control she was exerting over her grammar. And he admitted that as stupid as she might be, she had enough smarts in her to try to keep the men from asking questions by talking on in short stuttered sentences, which gave her time to think the next words and verb tenses while also masking some irregularities in her speech.

"I… I didn't want… I don't like camp. And I… I was just… I just… lost it. De backpacks. I lost de backpacks. And de documents. Dey were in… de backpacks." She kept flashing the surprised guards with yellow nervous smiles.

"Your daughter lost your documents… sir?"

Sabretooth opened his mouth to speak, but she yelled a frightened "NO!" at his ears and he almost thrashed her instead of the guys. The men were again looking at the wide eyed girl.

"Ah… I… I'm not… he's not… my… fader. He's my… uncle." And she almost laughed in her own confusion.

The guard cocked an eyebrow at Sabretooth.

"Your… niece… she 's lost your documents, sir?"

Sabretooth glared at her and reached for the glove-compartment. If he had to kill the guards anyway after this comedy, she was sure in for a painful death.

"Actually, mister officer, the girl ain't lost all documents. Here's the car's."

"Thank you, Mr. … Kinston. Your niece seems to be a bit troublesome, hun?"

He was taking his time going through the papers, and Sabretooth's hands had been itching for quite some time now.

"What's your name, sweetie?"

"My name is Mary Kingston, sir." Sabretooth nearly strangled her. She had mounted this circus, and now she got the name wrong! Didn't she have ears? Luckily for her, the chumps were all deaf and didn't get the mistake.

"And what's your uncle's name, Mary?"

The trap was set. She looked at Sabretooth, and started laughing in a nervous stupid way. She turned to the guard and hesitated.

"Ahhhh… You want to know what… we call my uncle?"

"If that's his name…"

"Ahhhh… Mmm…"

"Well?"

"Uncle Rambo?"

Sabretooth's hand got hold of the girl's collar before he himself realized and only stopped when he heard the guard at his side demanding to know what he thought he was doing. He swallowed a growl and spit an answer.

"I'm takin' the lil' darlin' ta her "Daddy"! If ya think I may. Officer."

The men looked at one another and the guard closer to him returned the car's documents with a fierce countenance.

"Just get your niece back home and go fix this document mess, Mr. Kinston. And keep in mind that if it weren't for you having to take the girl home to her parents, you'd have to stay here until we'd had the time to check out any information on you."

"If it weren't for the girl, I wouldn't even be here in the first place."

He put the pedal down and tore off and away from the assholes. His hands were so itching for giving somebody some well-deserved payback!

"I'm very sorry!"

Her studied voice only got him the more annoyed and he started growling. He felt her jump a little at the sound of it, and her heart seemed to miss a beat.

"Please! I am very sorry! I thinked… I didn't know what to say! So I thinked… dey will not ask your name again if I… if I was like a… a… what do you call? A… kid! A stupid kid! A kid that… that says and do… stupid things!"

"A brat?" His suggestion dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, don'tchja worry; 'cause if ya were trying ta be a brat, then I can tell ya, ya hit the bullseye, all right."

She sighed and went silent. Unfortunately, though, it was for a short time.

"I did not know what you wanted me to do. I thinked yo…"

"THOUGHT!" The car swerved as he suddenly let the yell out. "It's THOUGHT, ya witless brat!"

That seemed to have done the trick, Sabretooth thought some five minutes later when his irritation started to go down to its usual level. At least the kid didn't look like she was going to open her mouth again. His muscles eased a bit. Now if only he could find some good radio station…

----------------------------------------------

The car swallowed a few miles before the next road block showed up. He halted the jeep and held the documents on his left hand even before he was asked for them.

"'Evenin', sir. And the rest of documents?"

The man looked at him expectantly.

"The kid lost 'em."

"Excuse me?"

"The kid lost 'em! She lost the damned backpacks and the documents. Those the only left."

The man cocked an unbelieving eyebrow at him. Sabretooth swore under his breath.

"If ya just call yer palls back at th…"

"Hey, Moses!"

The guard he was talking to looked at his colleague and Sabretooth growled. He didn't like being interrupted by yuppity dick-heads. The two talked in a hushed tone, and then the Moses guy turned his attention to the car occupants again.

"Hey, sweety. Mary Kinston?" The girl had been looking at her feet, but her head shot up at the sound of that name. "Everything all right by you?"

She shook her head up and down, slowly first but then getting into an energized rhythm. The man smiled at her before turning to Sabretooth.

"Here you go, Mr. Kinston. Have a safe trip."

He snapped the papers off the man's hand and took off.

"I sure hope that was the last of 'em."

He glanced at the girl, who was looking absently at the woods to their right.

"I hope ya realize how close ya were ta blow our whole cover away." He grumbled at her. She didn't say anything, just averted her gaze from the woods and directed it at him; and he continued. "The name was Kinston; not Kingston. Yar lucky those assholes are as deaf as you are."

"I am sorry! I am not a… an English native speaker. I cannot listen any difference."

"Kinston and Kingston? Ya can't hear no difference in that?"

"De policemen did not listen to any difference."

"Only 'cause yer lucky they're deaf." He insisted one last time, and they both fell silent.


	6. The Runaways

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 4**

**The Runaways**

He followed the trail without the slightest problem. Even if he hadn't had the chance to follow their scent, he'd been able to follow their trail. Half an hour later, Sabretooth heard a helicopter's rumbling sound coming closer. He instinctively crouched under a thick vegetable cover. He heard the machines going north and grinned. Help had just arrived. And right on time to pick up the ashes of their prized project, too.

He stretched, smiling in his good mood. There's nothing like a plan that goes smoothly. He knew the original plan had long gone wary, but he couldn't care less about that. Things were looking great now.

"And that's what counts!" he couldn't help telling the trees on his way.

Shortly after, Sabretooth reached a wide shallow stream running in an even wider bed of rounded pebbles. The runaway leader's trail disappeared in the pebbles, and her scent was erased by the flowing water. He smiled, delighted: the woman had not only chosen the stony path as a way to erase any visible tracks; she had dived in the water in a successful attempt to wash off her scent. And she had done this in spite of the cool weather! Unfortunately for her hard effort, her colleague hadn't been so smart. Not only the dim-wit had avoided walking on the pebbles, she had kept aloft of the water as much as possible. He easily followed her trail along the stream.

A couple of hours later, the leader's path was once more clear. Sabretooth whistled at the woman's smarts: she had kept walking on the pebbles until she dried, so as not to leave a muddy track that any asshole could have followed. If it hadn't been for the other woman, he'd have had to lose precious time looking for the slightest clues in the stony stream-bed. He wondered why such a smart lady wouldn't just part ways from her companion, who was obviously ruining all her careful procedures. Not that he wanted her to do that: it'd make him waste time, having to go after one, and then having to go after the other… Nope, this was much better.

The morning was coming to an end when the wind brought the scent of fresh blood. The two women's scent was mingled in it, as well as the scent of two other people… two smelly men, actually. He growled, annoyed, realizing that these two chumps were in all likelihood already ruining his fun. He darted forward, the sound of the women's screaming already reaching him as the perfume of blood reeked in the spring breeze.

Just before he reached the site of the attack, though, he heard a despaired howl that was almost inhuman. He held his ground for a split moment, startled by the unexpected sound, but plunged forwards again as the howling continued. A couple more strides and he reached a battered, muddy track in time to see a man kicking a woman just two meters from him. He caught the man and immediately killed him, but his eyes were already on the second man who was still howling like mad. Sabretooth cocked an eyebrow; boy, did that guy had good reasons to be doing such a racket!

He was half lying on the ground, supported by his left arm, and trying desperately to use his right arm to get his entrails back where they belonged. But it was in vain: with each movement, whit each convulsion and desperate spasm, the whole bloody mess just kept slipping off the long, jagged cut in his abdomen.

Just a few inches away, laid a bloody military knife on the mud. The hallowing was starting to give way into the desperate whimper of a man who realizes there's nothing he can do besides waiting for death to come… and is scared shitless. In a smelly way, on top of that.

Sabretooth decided to ignore him for the time being, since he wasn't making much noise anymore. He turned his attention to the women. The blondie had just finished crawling closer to the poachers' jeep and was now rocking herself, crying and muttering in German. Her white and blue pyjama top was torn, showing her torso's pale skin; the trousers were down to her knees, and she hadn't even tried to pull them up. She was in her early twenties, he guessed, and looked indecently helpless. The dark haired one, who had been kicked by the poacher, remained carefully quiet, breathing hard. He couldn't see her face, but her small body told him she was just a teenager, and the back of her pyjama top, torn and tattered, told him that she had fought her assailants with enough energy.

As he came closer to her, though, he saw her strain to move quickly. He held his step and waited for her to sit herself; but that wasn't her aim. After a short while, she managed to get up, although giving up on straightening herself, and braced her torso where she had received the men's kicks. She looked straight at him. There was no fear in her eyes; only a fierce determination. Sabretooth grinned.

"So yer the fearless leader, huh?"

Her brow frowned slightly, but nothing else changed in her demeanour. He glanced at the dieing man and at the knife on the floor.

"You the one who did that, ain't ya?"

She didn't show any sign of understanding him. He grunted, annoyed. If she didn't speak English, then half his fun would be spoiled. He went to the poacher's car and inspected it. It was a dark-green Jeep Wrangler, and the guys had been driving it without the canvas roof and with the windshield folded flat. There were a couple of blankets and backpacks on the rear, along with two packed tents, rifles and ammunition. He shuffled around and found the men's documents in the glove-compartment, along with maps of the area. The car belonged to Mathew Kinston Jr.; married to a curly haired suzie-homemaker and with a toddler girl for a daughter, according to a photo in the guy's wallet. They lived in Grafton, North Dakota; and they were Bartholomew Lapper's neighbours, who apparently was married to a very hot red-head. Sabretooth checked the map thoroughly but quickly; he threw the wallets into the gloves compartment again, and reached for the car keys which were standing ready to start the car.

He then considered the two women. He'd have to get rid of their bodies, and burning was the most efficient method… but he didn't have any good flammable fuel right there and then. He turned to the blonde, still rocking herself, and told her to get in the car. He spoke in German, but she acted as if he wasn't even there. He shook his head and looked at the brunette. She was now sitting on the mud and was staring vacantly at the woods ahead of her, her limbs gone limp from apparent exhaustion.

"Hey, girlie!" He was walking towards her, and noticed a slight movement of the head in his direction, but she didn't turn her head all the way to him. He was already at her side when he continued. "Get yer lady friend in the car."

She sighed and forced herself to move. Sabretooth smiled, satisfied. So she did understand English after all. He saw her squat next to the other woman. She didn't say anything to her; just squatted and looked at her for awhile. Then she tried to shake her into some reaction, but she was oblivious to everyone. Sabretooth shook his head once before taking the matter into his hands.

He approached them, grabbed the woman by the shoulders and raised her. He didn't give time for the alienated woman to steady herself; he simply reached a hand to the back of her neck and broke it. Then he threw her on the rear, adjusted the blankets over the body and threw the men's backpacks and tents as the final concealment.

The brunette had got up and was looking at him intently. She wasn't afraid, he realized; probably as much in shock as the German. Or maybe not as much, but still in shock nonetheless.

"Get in the car."

She obediently climbed to the seat next to the driver's, not without trying to shake off some of the mud off the pyjama's trousers first. Having sat herself, she automatically reached for the seat belt. Sabretooth chuckled as he made himself comfortable in the driver's seat, and also reached for his seat belt. Safety above all! And he chuckled again, starting the engine.

------------------------------------------------

Sabretooth drove the jeep through the rugged, muddy terrain with ease. It was an excellent car for this kind of wood-joy-ride. Maybe he'd keep it. He continued driving eastwards for a couple more hours and then he stopped below some towering firs. He got out and stretched his legs before checking that the German's body was still hidden. Then he looked for some food and found the two men's provisions: beans, bacon and smoked meat, and an ice bag with beers in it. The brunette remained as quiet as she had ever since he had found them.

"Yer hungry?"

She seemed to startle from her vacant, limp stance and looked at him.

"I know ya speak English. Ya wanna eat somethin'?

She frowned, but remained silent. Sabretooth shrugged.

"Have it your way."

He sat near the jeep and started eating.

"You are going to kill me, aren't you?"

She spoke with a very slight accent which he couldn't place right away, and pronounced the sentence with a careful, well-thought out grammar awareness. He casually looked at her, and continued munching. She had straightened herself in the seat and infused some life in her whole frame while doing it.

"If you are going to kill me… why do you offer me food?"

"Why not?"

"It's… not necessary." That didn't seem to be the idea she was after as she quickly rephrased it. "It's like… putting food in the trash bin."

She spoke slowly, making every sound very distinct from one another, but with the certainty of someone who has uttered some long studied line. Sabretooth grinned.

"From that point a view, why do people eat at all? They're all gonna die sooner or later."

She frowned and insisted.

"Are you not going to kill me?"

"I ain't said that." He took another bite. "Just asked if yar hungry."

She looked at him with a puzzled look.

"No, I'm not hungry. Thank you." He could tell the politeness was fake. It sounded too much like a school lesson.

"What's yer name?"

She sighed and her body relaxed into a tired demeanour. She leaned on the seat's back and let her eyes trail off to the ground. When her voice came out, afterwards, it had a monotonous rhythm of something that has been told many times before.

"My name is Maria Sofia Carvalho Carias. I am from Portugal and I'm 16 years old."

"Say that again?"

She sighed and repeated the same exact sentence in an even more dejected way. Sabretooth looked at her very carefully. He didn't know Portuguese, but he had listened to many foreign names in many languages he didn't understand, and there was something odd about her name. It sounded too… he wasn't exactly sure, but there was a tinge of phoney to it. It was too… The thoughts ran inside his head, looking for the right word that might proof his suspicions right. Too… too rhythmic! Yes, that was it. Too rhythmic. It sounded like a child's rhyme, thought out as to be easy to remember. That wasn't her true name!

He growled. But if she was lying, why hadn't he noticed any change in her scent? Could it be that Portuguese names can sound that rhythmic? Or maybe she had repeated the lie so often, it had become a second nature to her. Then… was she lying about her nationality and age, too? And why would she lie in the first place? Well, that one was easy, she had lied in some weird attempt to protect herself and then she had kept to it even though there was no protection in it. As for her age… She was short, had close to nothing worth call boobies, and a young face. The large pyjama trousers hid her ass, but he was sure there wouldn't be much to show there, either. He wondered if she couldn't be younger than 16!

She remained indifferent to everything under his scrutiny, which she hardly seemed to notice. Sabretooth shook his head; there was no danger in these lies. What was the difference from calling her Maria or anything else? And as for age and nationality, that was even less important. She'd be dead soon enough, and that was the only real thing that couldn't be lied about. But first things first.

He finished eating and got the things back in the rear of the jeep. He opened the men's backpacks and ravaged them until he found what he wanted.

"Here, put this on."

A pile of clothes fell over her before she had time to react to his voice. She touched the clothes with a puzzled look and turned to Sabretooth, waiting for an explanation.

"Well, ya heard me. Put those things on." She gave the men clothes another puzzled look, and Sabretooth pointed out the obvious. "Ya can't go about in those muddy pyjamas, now, can ya?"

She got up and carefully measured the large jeans and shirt. The back of her pyjama top was torn almost in two, showing the dried mud that covered her back. And the pyjamas. Sabretooth went back to the rear of the car and came to her side holding a gallon of water and a comb. She was just buttoning the shirt, hiding the pyjamas she hadn't undressed.

"Here. Comb yer hair. I don't wanna go scare no folks when we get to the road."

She did as was told, and then washed her hands and face, wiping out all the dried mud. Having cleaned herself, she gave a second glance at the obviously large male clothes she was wearing.

"Trust me; it looks better than yar muddy pyjamas, kid. Now get back in the car."

Sabretooth went back to the rear to set the water gallon in place, while she sat herself and tried to adjust the clothes a bit. She had left the shirt over the jeans, hoping it would look as if she just liked baggy clothes. Extremely baggy clothes. She squirmed slightly on her seat, before reaching for the seatbelt. She must have thought odd the man's delay, though, as she turned back to see what was taking him so long.

Sabretooth was buttoning a flannel shirt. She couldn't see him from the waist down, but she guessed he had already changed into some jeans, too. She sighed.

"Whatchja lookin' at? Don't like the new look?"

He let himself fall onto the driver's seat and started the engine. He could feel her squirming uncomfortably next to him, as if gaining courage for something.

"If ya got somethin' ta say, kid, ya might as well spit it out fast. I ain't much for puttin' up with whinin' and fidgetin'."

He could tell she was holding her breath, now. But not for long, though.

"You said dat you don't like… wine… whining. Do you like questions? No! I… ahhh…" And she hesitated, searching for a word.

"If I mind questions, that's what ya wanna know?"

"Yes, please."

"Yeah, I mind questions all right. I've even been known for fixin' people as ask too many of 'em questions."

He looked at her for the effect of his words, before continuing, struggling to keep a grin from spoiling his annoyed expression.

"Why? Ya got somethin' ta ask me?"

He struggled harder with his victorious grin as she kept quietly silent in her seat. He drove for a while more in silence, the car shaking both occupants as it overcame the terrain's difficulties. Sabretooth would every now and then steal a glance at the kid next to him. She seemed even smaller and younger in that outfit; as well as more helpless. But as much as the clothes made her look weak, the truth was that she wasn't weak. He frowned, remembering the hallowing guy; that one had been cut from crotch to Adam's apple… And she'd been the one who did it.

"So. Mary, ain't it?"

She looked at him, seemingly not understanding what he had said.

"Yer name… it's Mary, right?"

"No, it isn't. My name is Maria." She pronounced it slowly, almost reminding him of a Spanish accent, but not quite.

"Right. So, Mary. How d'ya kill that guy back there?"

There was a bit of silence before she answered, with a tired voice.

"My name is not Mary. It is Maria." She sighed and continued without noticing the man's low growl. "And I did not kill no one."

"Ya didn't?"

She let her silence answer him and focused on the glove compartment, trying to control her pouting chin.

"Sure. The guy just decided ta cut himself open an' check out his own guts."

He glanced in time to see her chin quiver, and her voice followed, trembling slightly.

"I didn't kill no one." She tried to muster some more control before continuing, but in vain. "I just… I just… dee… defended me."

"An' how d'ya do that? That's what I wanna know."

He saw the glittering moisture in her eyes too late and swore silently, wishing he hadn't pressed that last question. The one thing he didn't need was a darned soon to-be-dead chippie crying on his shoulder. He unconsciously squirmed in the seat, as if trying to put some more space between them. Consciously, though, he just decided to delay the questioning for a better opportunity. It wouldn't do if she lost her bearings too early and he had to kill her before he planned to.

He drove in silence for another half an hour, being careful not to look at the girl, who he was sure should be crying silently. Had they been driving through a road, instead of being opening a new track in the middle of the forest, his senses would have reassured him that she wasn't crying. In fact, she had spent every minute so far hardening herself to talk without any signs of the previous weakness. And now that she felt herself ready, she cleared her throat and started with a controlled but stiff voice.

"I did not kill him."

Sabretooth looked down at her, half startled by the girl's composed face. She wasn't focusing on the glove compartment anymore, but looking straight ahead at the woods; her eyes had that vacant look of someone that is thinking too hard to actually see anything. She had drawn a deep breath, and after releasing it slowly, she repeated in a very soft but determined voice.

"I. Did. Not. Kill. Him." There was another pause and Sabretooth barely kept himself from asking an obvious "then who the hell did".

"He… attacked me. Dey attacked me. Us. The German lady… one man attacked her. De oder man attacked me." Sabretooth rolled his eyes: as if he wasn't tired of knowing that. "I don't remember things very well. I think I was very scared. I remember my heart very fast. Beating very fast. Everything was so fast! I fell… I think he make me fall. And it hurt. The stones hurt me. Dere were many stones in the street; and I fell on the stones. He was trying to take my clothes, and make me turn round, but I did not want… and den things were slow. Dey were fast, but dey were slow, too. It is very strange! And I thinked of the stones and I… I hold one in my hand. And den I let he turn me. Because I had de stone in my hand. And I hit wid de stone wid many strength in his head. And it worked! He fell to de oder side and was hurt… in his head. And he was crying and… and calling me names…"

Her breathing was very fast, and she was now looking at her hands, her right one clenching an imaginary rock in it. Her eyes were dazed, reliving the experience, and she hadn't noticed how Sabretooth had slowed the car down to a quiet stop. Her grammar had got a bit strange as her excitement had taken over and he was listening attentively, waiting for her to restart the tale. She swallowed and dropped her hands on her lap with a funny expression on her face.

"It was den I watch it. He had a knife… here…" And she took her hand to her waist. "It was inside a… thing… dis thing for knifes. De knife was inside it. And… And I tried to get the knife. He… It was a confusion. I don't know… The knife didn't wanted to come out and he was… and den de knife came out and I stick it in he. I try to do it wid very much strong! I wanted to hurt him very much! I wanted to kill him! Dem! And… And I can't got the knife more… inside him, I think… So den I… I…"

She had been holding an imaginary knife, which she had repeatedly plunged in the belly of an imaginary guy in front of her, and was now bringing it up in the same alienated repeated way. After a while she stopped and let her hand fall on her lap again. Her breathing was calmer now.

"I didn't kill him." Her voice was soft but cold, emotionless. "I'm glad I didn't. Very glad."

She didn't smile, though. Just looked fiercely at her motionless hands.

"I know I didn't kill him. I hear… I'm sorry. I heard. I heard him crying. It was a… a strange cry; but I know it was him. I cut him very much, and I hurt him. The oder man came and called me names, and kicked me. But I heard the oder man crying. He was hurting very much, wasn't he?"

She looked up at Sabretooth. There was a slight smile on her lips, but her eyes were as cold as death.

"If I killed him, he wouldn't hurt dat much." The smile unfolded a bit more, but it had a fierce sadness to it. "I am glad I did not kill him."

Sabretooth held her gaze, cold and honest in its brown loneliness.

"Are you going to kill me in de same way you killed the German lady?"

He frowned at the unexpected question.

"I would like dat. If is possible. If is possible for you to kill me in dat way…" Her voice died quietly, but her eyes didn't leave his. He thought there was an eerie deathlike quality in them, and turned abruptly from them, starting the car's engine.

He drove for a couple of minutes in silence. It felt longer though, until he finally dispelled that eeriness with a decision concerning her death.

"We'll see about that when we get ourselves some flammable stuff. Yeah. We'll see about that then."


	7. Ashes to Ashes

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 5**

**Ashes to Ashes**

The night was dark, as a new moon can't possible give much light. They were in Bismarck, North Dakota; hiding in a typically dark back alley. They were waiting for the right time to enter the building to their right. It was a cremation house.

Sabretooth had been very pleased with the kid. She had never bugged him once about needing to go to the little girls' room or anything. When he happened to decide to stop, she would sometimes ask his permission to go to the bathroom, which always got him to arch an eyebrow. But he didn't bother to correct her. Why correct a dead kid? And she hardly ate anything at all. That was something that annoyed him; and she had ended up asking for a chocolate and eating it. He had driven an entire night and yet another day to get to Bismarck. She had always kept herself awake, too. She sometimes might have closed her eyes and dosed off a bit, but any bump in the road with get her eyes to open right away. And she had hardly said anything. Outside asking permission to go to the bathroom, that is. A weird kid, all and all.

As he waited, Sabretooth was looking at her. He couldn't help wondering just how old she really was. She just didn't act like she was 16. There wasn't the tinniest bit of teenager behaviour in her. And then she had that weird gaze… He was looking at her right now; her body as relaxed as if she was asleep, her gaze set dead ahead on the shallow light coming from a lamp post… He wandered what she was thinking.

"Hey, kid!" He spoke in a hushed tone. "Whatchja thinkin'? Getting' scared at the idea o' getting' killed?"

She startled slightly, as if she had just awakened, and looked at him. She shook her head a bit and added in an even more hushed tone.

"No." She looked at the lamp post again before adding. "Dere is a bat."

"What?"

"Dere is a bat. Dere. It flies around and around." She paused slightly and continued in an even lower voice. "Dere used to be a bat close to my house, too. It was a long, long time ago. It wasn't. But it's like it was…"

She looked at him with a sad smile.

"Is now de time? I'm so tired…"

"Thought ya'd be a bit scared. Most people are."

He consciously let some honesty slip into his conversation for a little while. He was curious about her and he'd like to get a few answers before killing her. And something inside told him that threatening answers out of her just wouldn't get him what he wanted.

She was silent, but her gaze didn't have that abandoned almost dead-like quality to it anymore so he let her be a few more minutes without pressing her into saying anything. There was plenty of time, anyway.

"I think…"

Her voice was so low that Sabretooth wouldn't have understood her if it weren't for his heightened hearing.

"I think…"

She set a dreamy gaze on the lamp post again, probably looking for the darned bat. Her voice was a bit more audible, though, and he predicted that the next time she repeated herself her voice would be even clearer.

"I don't want to die."

Drats, he'd lost. Not only she hadn't repeated herself, her voice hadn't got any louder either. Plus she had just said what anyone else would have said. What a disappointing kid!

"But… I have anything. I wish I can close my eyes and wake up at my bed. Safe at home. But I don't have my home, now. It is all… Dey made it all disappear. And I don't have anything."

She looked at his expressionless face. There was a feeling of despair showing in her eyes. He thought she would have grown into one of those simple-minded women who show her feelings in her eyes all the time – adoration, anger, pleasure, pain, despair… And then he saw that same despair just flicker away and disappear, leaving nothing but that death-like void that annoyed him so much.

"I'm so tired… So very, very tired… I think… I think dat death… people don't want to die. I think people are afraid off stopping… stopping to be… living. But… I think I'm not… living yet. I think I died… before… before you killed all de people. I think I died before dat. Because I don't want to die. But… I don't… I don't feel living."

She shook her head and looked away.

"I don't know… It isn't important. You are going to kill me. And I will die."

He hardly suppressed a snort at the obvious. She looked at the lamp again. He couldn't help thinking she was like one of those moths the bat was hunting, attracted to the distant light that means nothing but death. He chuckled. Attracted to the light at the end of the tunnel. There aren't many things as definitive as that type of light.

"I think…"

She must have some sick adoration for that word, he snorted. She never said anything that it wasn't "I think", "I thinked"…

"What is dat word?"

"Huh?" He hadn't expected the sudden question. "What word ya talkin' 'bout?"

"What you say when… when a… a… de man dat works in de church?"

"A priest?"

"Priest… What he does… to de people dat marry… and to de babies… like dis."

She raised her hand in a blessing sign.

"You mean… like a blessin'? Priests bless people? That's what ya gettin' at?"

"Blessing?" She repeated, a bit unsure.

"Yeah, blessin'… like…" He raised his big hand over her head in a mock imitation of a priest. "I bless ya in the name o' the yadda-yadda and so on. Blessin'."

"Yes, it's what I want. Thank you. Blessing. I think it is a blessing."

"What is?"

"Death. I think dat death is a blessing."

"No shit. So… death is a blessin', huh?"

She shrugged. Her eyes had revived somewhat, looking for the word she wanted, but now they were falling again into her usual vacant look.

"To me. It is a blessing to me. Do you know… when you are very tired, and you go home, you go to bed… and den you go asleep? You are very, very tired… and de sleep, is like a blessing. Death is like sleep when you're very, very tired. And I'm very, very tired…"

There was a moment of silence before she spoke again. Her voice didn't sound dreamy, though, and she didn't babble about any foolish nonsense either.

"When is it time?"

"Huh? Oh… Well, I guess now's as good as any other time."

He got up, went to the rear of the car and picked up a cocoon of blankets. They had bought a couple more and wrapped the dead body to prevent any smell from pestering the jeep. He placed the cocoon over his shoulder and led the way. He had already picked the back door's lock, some time ago, and he had checked the inside of the crematory and its workings.

"Ready?"

He was standing at the door, and when she shook her head affirmatively, holding her breath nervously, he opened the door and let her in. He closed the door and told her to go to the right, but she turned left instead.

"I said right!"

"Desculpe! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Her voice was a whisper and she hurried to the right side.

"OK. Now we just wait a bit fer the oven ta pick up some heat 'fore puttin' the body in."

The girl looked at the big chamber curiously and held her arms. He could tell she was nervous, because he could hear her heart racing inside her breast. He kept silent, though.

"So…" She said after five minutes of alternate sighs and held breaths.

"So…" He echoed. He was leaning on the wall and enjoying the growing heat on his back. "I think it's probably hot enough, now. Whatchja think?"

She looked at the chamber's closed door and didn't answer him. She was holding her breath again. Nervous as hell, he almost chuckled. So much for the blessing. At last she turned and stood in his way, looking at him expectantly. He looked down at her, at her hands rubbing themselves on one another.

"So…" She swallowed and looked at the chamber's door again, before setting her gaze straight on his eyes. Her nervousness was undeniable; but so was her anxious smile. "I guess dis is it, den…"

"How old are ya? I know ya ain't 16. Ya can't be." She lowered her head and he knew he got her. "Ya may look 16, but ya sure as hell don't act like it… So what's yer real age?"

She kept her eyes on the ground for a short while. When she looked up, both smile and nervousness were gone; just some bitter something remaining. She looked older, now; and he wondered why he hadn't noticed it before.

"I am twenty years old. Dat is my truth age. May I ask your name?"

"Ya can call me Creed."

"Mr. Creed. Are you going to kill me, now? Please."

Her eyes weren't pleading; they were simply serious. Deadly serious, he joked to himself. He pushed her aside and opened the door to the chamber. He slid the dead woman's body, wrapped in blankets, off his shoulder and threw it into the hot flames in one single fluid movement. He closed the door and locked it carefully. He then looked at the temporizer and set it for five hours.

"After that," he told the temporizer, "there ain't even gonna be no ashes left."

He looked at her. She was still leaning on the wall, to where he had pushed her; she had a slight frown, as if he had just done something quite unexpected. Yeah, well, he told himself, he wasn't exactly known as unpredictable for no reason, was he?

"Come on, girl. We ain't got all night." He moved swiftly towards the back street door, but she didn't move. "Ain't ya heard me just now? Get movin' an' get yerself back in the car. We still have a long way ta go an' I ain't feelin' in no good mood."

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

To : Actually, there is a plot; but this story is more of a chronicle on how Creed gets himself a Birdy II. That's why it may look like there isn't a definite line leading the story. The plot will become apparent very soon, though.

An excerpt from the next chapter:

**7. Confrontation**

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Not before ya finish the cleanin', I ain't."

"But you are going to kill me after dat, aren't you?"

He sighed, starting to get tired of the constant question.

"Look, girl, I'll kill ya whenever I decide ta kill ya. So stop botherin' an' I'll consider givin' ya a fair warnin' 'fore I do it."


	8. Confrontation

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 7**

**Confrontation**

The fields were green and speckled with some light colours – flowers which hadn't yet opened their fragile heads to the blue and white sky. The air was cold because of the early hour; nevertheless, the temperature inside the car was warm enough.

Sabretooth had driven non-stop since he had left Madison, seven hours ago. He avoided looking at the girl at his side. He was now wondering what crazy idea had got over him not to kill her. And just what was he going to do with her? He almost considered finding a new crematory house in the closest city and finishing her the way he had been supposed to back in Bismarck. On the other hand, he had to admit that the way she was so… so open to the idea of being killed threw him off somewhat. He killed people who didn't want to die, not people who asked him to kill them. It was annoying. It was unnatural. Now what was he going to do with her? Not to mention that he had to kill her anyway, whether she wanted to die or not. That is, whether she didn't want to die or did want to die. He shook his head. Dammit! He was a killer: a professional hit man and a famous sociopath murderer. If he wanted to kill somebody, he did. There was no "please don't kill me" that could stop him from doing just that. And he'd be damned if he was going to let a "please kill me" stop him!

There was only one question: since he hadn't killed her when he should have, when was he going to ace her? That was something he'd need to think about. He couldn't go back and kill her just now – it wouldn't have been right, since it'd make him look indecisive. Well, she was alive, so why not do something with her. Have some fun, maybe… He glanced at the girl who had spent the whole night fighting with the seatbelt. She would lean to her right side and curl up in a semi-foetal position, but the seatbelt bothered her. So she would wrestle with it before turning to the left and again try to curl up… but the seatbelt would again bother her, and the whole process started anew. Still, she was never so bothered that she'd wake up… Sabretooth shook his head at the poor show. Fortunately, the girl didn't snore, or she would have found that Sabretooth was a lot harder to wrestle with than the flimsy seatbelt.

He passed by Edgar, a town a couple of miles to his right. It wasn't much further, now. It had been some time since he'd last been in Wausau, where he had a house. It wasn't really his house: some rich would-be mafia guy had fixed the building just before meeting an early death, and Sabretooth had decided to keep it. After all, it isn't every day you're faced with the chance to get a house with an underground shooting room and escape route, not to mention a large garage, plenty of rooms, a quiet neighbourhood and good, thick wood coverage right in the backyard. But then again, it wasn't really his house because it was still under its previous owner's name. Not that it mattered, since he'd fixed it so that no one would come bother him.

As a matter of fact, not having the house under his name just made it a better and more precious place to keep: whenever he wanted some time out, he could come holidaying up here and no enemy of his would have a clue as to where he could be staying. The only drawback was that he really had to keep himself at his best behaviour when he was in town. And since he only came here when he wanted to get away from the hectic life of a super-villain, he never did any business contacts so as not to compromise the spot's secrecy. The closest thing he had to his own little spot in Paradise. The perfect thing would really be a nice comfortable cabin out in the woods and away from any annoying asshole around… Nevertheless, if you wanted to cut yourself off from the "real world" but not cut yourself off from the "modern world", then Wausau's suburban area was pretty close to Paradise, indeed.

There was only one thing that really ticked him off. Every darned lane, street, road or avenue this side of the river was named after some good for nothing flower or tree. It was roses, primroses, ivy… And his house had landed precisely on Lily Lane. It gave him goose-bumps just to think about it. Lily! No wonder he kept away for so long.

They passed the Marathon City area and he shook the sleeping girl.

"Hey, kid! Rise an' shine an' all that. We're almost there."

She started up a bit, still struggling with the seatbelt as she tried to stretch her arms and legs. Finally, and having finished all the stretching, she opened her eyes sleepily and glanced around. She set her eyes on the road for a while, making sure to let them stray to Sabretooth every now and then. After some minutes, though, she turned her head to the right and sighed to the many fields crossed by a little zigzagging river. Very soon, she saw the trees overcome the fields. In among the trees she could sometimes glimpse the water shining in the morning sun. She sighed. Houses started to appear both to the right and to the left, and she could now see the large wetland area just a couple of miles from the road. Even as the houses grew in number and size, and as the town roads and streets shot around in straight lines, she still kept her eyes steadily locked on the shimmering water and the green enveloping it. She sighed again.

Creed was starting to get annoyed at all that sighing when a new thought hit him, and he growled. He hadn't been here for at least two years. Which meant the house hadn't been cleaned for more than two years. He grunted loudly. He always rented a room in a hotel for a day while a cleaning agency made the place inhabitable. And he'd forgotten about it. In his annoyance, he casually glanced at the girl who was still sighing at the landscape. He smiled, suddenly in a very good mood. Well, there really was nothing to worry about. He'd just brought home his own "cleaning agency". He turned right into the US 51. Another ten minutes and he'd be home.

---------------------------------------------

There weren't many houses in the long lane, but they all looked big and stately, built in rows and with long empty gaps in-between. Sabretooth's house looked particularly lonely, embraced by dark trees instead of by green lanes and neighbouring houses. The house was sitting on the left, almost opposite a street that climbed a gentle hill filled with more empty house plots but which ended up as a towering forested mount.

Sabretooth parked the car in front of the garage and told her to get out. As she did, she looked around carefully. What should have been a lane looked like a forest of huge green grasses which immediately warned the girl that the house hadn't been inhabited for quite some time. The house looked like a big L, with the protruding leg being the garage, on the right side of the house. She didn't like that much, but she had to admit that the grey two story main body was impressive. Even with the one floor garage on its side. But the trees also helped to its impressiveness, she decided while following the big blonde man into the house.

The door was located right in the middle of the building, with two windows to the left and three to the right. The second floor had five windows, too, exactly above the first floor ones.

"Stop starin' 'round an' come in already!"

She obeyed quickly and entered a rectangular hall. There were two large wooden closets straight ahead and a couple of chairs on the left end of the room, with a tall ashtray between them. The first of the left side windows lit the hall chairs and a rectangular pot whose inhabitants had died a long, dry death. It also lit the many cobwebs that covered that area. She followed Sabretooth to the right, going over an arched passage and entering a second hall, which was very obviously lit by the first of the right side windows. This wasn't really a room, like the entrance hall, but more of a corridor. The left wall had a door right after the arched passage, and it ended with a stairway to the second floor; the right wall had a single double-door and a couple of small wood cupboards. And everything was equally decorated with cobwebs shimmering slightly under the morning light filtered by the filthy wind panes.

She walked up the corridor and into a grand space that was in front of it and which ended in three windows that marked the end of the house. This large space was nothing more than a huge living-room, and she looked around, eyes wide at the big fireplace, the dust covered sofa and arm-chairs and the long piano. Sabretooth was waiting for her on a passage at the right extremity of the room, obviously pleased at the effect his house was having on the girl. She moved uncertainly towards the piano, past another wooden cupboard. She could then see a small coffee table in the middle of the sofa and arm-chairs, arranged in a U facing the fireplace and a huge flat TV screen. She turned her head around, mouth slightly open at the complete abandonment that this rich room evidenced.

"Ready ta see the kitchen?" Sabretooth grinned, his two fangs hardly showing but giving him a dangerous naughty look.

She answered him with a mute yes and he proudly led her through the right passage and into an even more spacious room. It was divided in half by a U-shaped counter in whose middle rested a large kitchen table, although without chairs. She held her breath as she dared into the room. There were two windows opening to the counter. The wall on her right had a door and a large wood cupboard with a microwave and what seemed like a wood oven. She passed over the last arm of the U-counter and found herself facing two windows, with a bay-window to her right and a square corridor to her left, which enclosed three doors. She went over to the window, going past a large round table which stood in the middle of that kitchen area, and noticed the dead mass of dried plants in several pots which cluttered that side of the wall.

"Ya may wanna check what's up with these doors over here."

She obediently walked back to the doors. She opened the door in front of her and almost entered in the garage, but the big man pulled her back to the kitchen and closed the door with a bang.

"I wasn't talkin' 'bout that door. Here, check this one."

And he promptly opened the left door for her and pushed her inside. She looked at the washing-machine and the drier, lined up on the right wall and followed by a large wooden closet. Then she looked at the counter on the left wall, lit by the only window in the room. She finally looked at the blonde man with a puzzled expression.

"It's the laundry room." He stated emphatically.

She looked at the place again before turning to him still puzzled, but also a bit suspicious. He got out of her way and motioned for the third door, opposite the laundry room. She entered the place, while Sabretooth switched on the light. He was quick to enlighten her as to the function of the long room, filled by several shelves of different sizes and heights on both sides.

"It's the pantry."

She quietly left the place and returned to the kitchen. She went to the bay window, making sure to keep the big round table between her and Sabretooth. He grinned at her cautiousness and held his ground near the three doors.

"You didn't kill me. Why?"

"It sure took ya time ta ask me that!" His grin grew wider, showing his fangs. "Why d'ya think I didn't kill ya?"

She narrowed her brown eyes somewhat, but didn't say anything.

"Well, obviously I didn't kill ya 'cause I decided not ta kill ya!" And he smiled brilliantly. "Now, whadd'ya think o' the house, hein?"

She kept her gaze on him, and her narrowed eyes looked both puzzled and suspicious. Yet, she played his game.

"De house is nice. It's very big. Is it your house, Mr. Creed?"

"Ya can say that again. Anyways, whadd'ya think 'bout how it looks?"

She was clearly getting confused and Sabretooth lost his patience even before she could say anything.

"Look, in case ya're so blind ya can't see the house ain't been used fer some time, I think it's pretty obvious the place needs a good rubbin' an' cleanin'. Now d'ya see where I'm gettin', girl?"

She was silent for a few seconds, not letting him out of her sight.

"You didn't kill me, because you want dat I clean de house?"

"Congratulations! Ya just hit the jackpot. Now, I wanna be sleepin' in the house tonight, so ya better start by my room upstairs. Come on, I'll show it ta ya."

She followed him very quietly, up the stairs and through the door dead ahead after the last steps. The man's room was very large and it was nearly taken over by the biggest bed the girl had ever seen. It was set against the wall opposite the door and it had a bedside table and a bedside mat on each side. To its right there were two windows, and to its left there was an impressive wooden chest of drawers with a matching mirror, followed by four mirror panes, which were obviously a closet's sliding doors. Everything looked as covered in dust and cobwebs as the rooms she'd seen on the first floor. She walked further into the bedroom and noticed an inner door next to one of the windows. The man opened it for her and her eyes went wide at the image of the enormous bath tub which occupied more than half the bathroom. There was also a toilet facing a washbasin next to the door, and a window opened on to the bath, lighting the dirt which covered the tiled white and blue surfaces.

"Well, then, this is what ya have ta clean. I expect ta have it all fixed by dinner time, so ya better get down ta workin'."

She looked at him in mild surprise.

"Any doubts?" He asked in a mock worried tone.

She was again silent for a few seconds before speaking.

"I need clodes."

"What for? Ya look dressed enough."

"I need clodes." She insisted. "And I need things… to cleaning."

He growled, annoyed. The girl had a point: she'd need cleaning stuff and since he wasn't about to go shopping those things for her, she'd need clothes to go out by herself.

"Fine." He grunted. "Ya check around what cleanin' stuff it is that ya need ta buy while I get ya some clothes, and then ya can go shoppin' fer them things. But ya just keep in mind that ya'd better have this whole room cleaned by dinner time, got it?"

She nodded her understanding and he grunted again.

"What's yar size?"

"Size?"

"Yeah, size. What's yar clothes' size?"

"Ah… It's 34 or 36. It depends of de models. Shoes are 37 or 38."

He cocked an eyebrow. Oh, goody: she only knew the European sizes. This was going to be great.

"Right. Tell ya what, I'll get ya anythin' that has an S on it an' ya can look fer shoes yarself later on."

Having given his take on the matter, Sabretooth strolled down the stairs, yelled a "ya better get ta workin' while ya're waitin' fer me ta come back" and left. She went over to one of the bedroom's filthy windows and saw the car slide down the entrance and disappear down the road. Now what was she going to do?

--------------------------------------------------

Sabretooth returned half an hour later with a track suit, several slippers in different sizes and some hamburgers and drinks. He found her upstairs, getting ready to bring down curtains, bed sheets and covers, towels and an assortment of his own everyday clothes. He called her down, had her sit on the kitchen round table and told her to eat. For once she didn't complain she wasn't hungry and simply ate thoughtfully. He sat opposite her and waited for her to finish.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Not before ya finish the cleanin', I ain't."

"But you are going to kill me after dat, aren't you?"

He sighed, starting to get tired of the constant question.

"Look, girl, I'll kill ya whenever I decide ta kill ya. So stop botherin' an' I'll consider givin' ya a fair warnin' 'fore I do it."

She finished the last bite and got up to put the empty containers in the trash bin, on the other side of the kitchen. Sabretooth was looking at the dead plants when he heard the silverware and he immediately jumped off his chair and went after the girl. But he was too late.

"Stop!"

He froze at her yell and growled, clearly showing his fangs and claws. She shuddered as she saw the long sharp claws for the first time and hesitated before talking. Nevertheless, she kept her left hand holding the back of her head and pressed the meat knife harder against her slim neck.

"I am not going to be your slave. If you want me to be your slave and clean, and if you are going to… to make fun off me, den I am going to kill myself. I save you de problem off killing me and I am going to kill myself."

She set her jaws in stubborn defiance against the big man, who growled uninterruptedly. Her hold on the knife handle stiffened as she got ready to slit her own throat. At the same instant, he made his move. He jumped and nearly flew over the kitchen table, effectively disarming her and knocking her down. She only had time to let out a short scream, and his hands were on her neck, covering the shallow wound she had still had time to inflict upon herself.

She opened her eyes and breathed in with some difficulty, the big hand holding her neck tightly. Sabretooth was amazed that he still couldn't smell any fear coming from her, even if her heart was beating away at a crazed speed. People who aren't afraid of dieing, he thought, are immune to death threats, but they aren't necessarily immune to the idea of pain.

"Maybe I didn't make myself clear. So let's start by the beginnin': first off, nobody tells me what ta do, got it? Nobody. That means, YOU do not tell ME what to do. Am I bein' clear now?"

He looked straight into her eyes before continuing.

"An' if I told ya that I'd kill ya whenever I felt like killin' ya, then ya'll be killed when I feel like killin' ya. But not before. Are we clear on that?"

Her heart rhythm died away into a calm throbbing, and her eyes glazed over with that same death-like quality he'd seen before. He swore to himself. She was letting herself slip into a passive defeated poise, when he wanted her to get scared, to understand her only way out was to obey everything she was told.

"D'ya know who I am, kid? I'm a freekin' mutant who lives only ta kill! I'm known 'bout as Sabretooth, an' everyone knows I don't give shit 'bout no one but me. An' no one, but no one nowhere is ever gonna stop me from doin' whatever I decide ta do. An' if I says ya're gonna be cleanin' this house upside down, then ya can be sure ya will be cleanin' it."

"Are you going to watch me all de seconds?"

His eyes narrowed and she continued, her voice a mere whisper which his growling threatened to overcome.

"I don't tell you what to do, Mr. Creed. I only tell you what I am going to do. And I am going to kill myself. You can hurt me… you can... Dere is no difference. I am going to kill myself. In de moment you leave me alone, I am going to kill me."

He growled and pressed her neck harder. She held her breath for a moment but didn't whimper.

"You will do what I tell ya ta do, an' nothin' else."

A tear trickled down her cheek, but there was still no fear, no despair in her eyes, just a pained but stubborn emptiness.

He noticed the blood trickling down his own fingers. He let go of her neck and checked the wound. She had just missed the jugular. She remained down, her every muscle as relaxed as if she was taking a carefree nap. Her eyes were looking aimlessly at the ceiling. He decided to take a different approach. He lay down by her side, his face just inches from hers.

"Ya see this?"

He noticed her eyes focusing on his thumb, tears drying slowly on her face, and only then did he unsheathe his claw.

"Ya think ya wanna die? I can make ya really wanna die. I can hurt ya so bad, ya'll do anythin'… just anythin' ta make it stop."

He slowly brought his claw to her cheek. Her eyes, having lost their original target, focused on what was straight ahead of them: the man's amber eyes, which were already locked on hers. He slowly pressed the natural blade against her soft skin and slid it down a couple of inches, leaving behind a thin bloody trail. Her breathing continued as even as before. He cupped her face in his big hand, pressing just the tip of his other four claws on the other cheek.

"Or ya can fix it so it won't hurt. How's it gonna be? Are ya gona be a good lil' girl? Or do ya want me ta hurt ya inta doin' what I tells ya?"

Her eyes gazed emptily at his, blinking peacefully. That was not the response he was after. Then he noticed her muscles working and waited for her hand to come up to his own, wondering what she was going to do. He saw the moister come up again and a new tear started forming as her small hand looked for the tip of his fingers. He didn't move as she pressed his hand down, making his claws enter her flesh. He felt her shudder and her heartbeat raised slightly as she tried to pull his hand down, leaving four not so thin trails. His own heartbeat was rising, now, and he grabbed her hand and pinned it down on the tiled floor. He closed his eyes and licked the blood on her face, delighting himself in its bitter sweetness and in the salty taste her tears had given her tender skin. But even as he did, he felt the small body under his going limp. He gazed into her eyes, but they were looking past him, as if he weren't blocking their view of the ceiling. Another tear was lazily sliding down her right cheek.

He grunted, frustrated. Aside her body's warmth and softness, she wasn't much better than a corpse. Her scent had no fear, no excitement, no emotion. He felt the urge to shake her, hit her, hurt her; anything that would make her react. It was unnatural: both her wish to die and this complete lack of reaction. His breathing had gone ragged without him noticing, but now he struggled to control both breathing and instincts.

She wanted to die, he remembered himself; she wanted to be hurt and to die. He forced himself to think the best approach to this… this problematic kid. Fine. He'd just have to make sure that she would neither die nor get hurt. He let go of her hand, which he had still been pinning down, and pressed his closed fist against the cool tile. He was going to hold his temper; he was going to control himself. He gazed at her abandoned expression. She didn't want to live? Then he was going to make her want to live! Yes, that was it: he'd make her enjoy life again. He smiled eagerly in anticipation. Because when she started enjoying life again, she wouldn't think of dieing; she would do anything to escape pain and death. Oh, yeah. His breathing became ragged again as his imagination played a not too far off future. He'd have his fun, then. She'd fight first, he was sure – she had enough hot blood to fight him. Yes, she'd fight, and then she'd beg. And he'd have his well-deserved fun. He licked his lips, parted in a predatory grin.

He willed his imagination back to the present and to the limp body under him. The only question was how to make her want to live. His grin became wider as he realized the challenge that awaited him. This was going to be fun…

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Note: I'm afraid I forgot to post chapter 5 – Road Blocks. Guess I got a bit confused there, and I'm sorry about any confusion I've caused you. Now that it has finally been posted there shouldn't be any more problems.

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

To Dizi: I'm afraid you were just slightly off the mark. As you can see, Creed's going to be the one doing the teaching on this one. And yes, she's going to be a well of surprises to him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An excerpt from the next chapter:

**8. Victor 'Frankenstein' Creed**

He could just kill her. That'd be the end of all trouble. He could. But he'd be damned if he was going to! He had already decided she'd clean the place first, and he'd find a way to have his will done. One way or the other. As soon as she stopped threatening to kill herself… Dammit! He should be the one passing death threats around, not his victims!


	9. Victor 'Frankenstein' Creed

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 7**

**Victor 'Frankenstein' Creed**

Sabretooth closed the car's door and sped back to the house, a freshly bought first-aid kit in his hand. He had left the girl knocked out on his own bed, laying on the stripped mattress and covered by a musty sheet. Since she had been completely oblivious to everything going on around her, he had decided on knocking her out and waiting for her to be more talkative when she came to. In the meantime, he had taken the time to buy something to clean the cuts in her neck and face. He had hardly parked the car and he was already speeding up to his room. He wanted to be there when she woke up.

He needn't have hurried; she was still peacefully out. Not that there was much of a difference from her previous state, but at least she wasn't such a disturbing image anymore. The way she had looked at the ceiling in her blank death-like expression unnerved him. He could swear she looked like a dead body. A living dead body. He sat on the floor, his back against the wall, and tried to plan his actions. The goal was simple: get her to enjoy being alive. Right. How? First, he had to convince her not to want to die. His mind raced through several arguments, but none sounded convincing. He couldn't picture her reacting to any of the traditional reasons not to commit suicide. This was stupid. He was a god-damned killer and here he was playing the anti-suicide squad! He'd be doomed if anyone knew about this. He actually shuddered imagining the X-assholes going about "Oh, Sabretooth saved a young girl from killing herself! There's still hope to save him from his killing urges!". Yeah, right!

He could just kill her. That'd be the end of all trouble. He could. But he'd be damned if he was going to! He had already decided she'd clean the place first, and he'd find a way to have his will done. One way or the other. As soon as she stopped threatening to kill herself… Dammit! He should be the one passing death threats around, not his victims! Now he had to think over a new method to… to somehow threaten her into obeying. Right. Back to scratch: How to convince her to want to live? Frankenstein had had his job cut easy, "convincing" a dead monster to come back to life. He idly considered taking her to a god-forsaken-castle and zap her with thunders. He chuckled, then he'd have to find her a groom instead of the traditional bride.

The big man was still chuckling softly even as he tried to get his thoughts back in the right track. Getting her back to life! Right. The idea of a shrink crossed his mind. He sure could use one right about now! OK, so what would a shrink do? He'd tell her that suicide is stupid. He doubted that argument could convince anyone, though. What else would a shrink do? Ask her stupid questions about mummy and daddy. Nope, shrinks wouldn't do this girl any good. They probably couldn't do anyone any good either!

Sabretooth got up and walked around. This was no good. He'd better think up something fast; she'd be waking any minute now and he needed to know how to play her into his game. But what could he say? He could understand a guy that wants to die because he's being tortured and is going to get killed in the end anyway. He could even understand if a guy wanted to die because he was too much of a coward to face whatever problem was driving him over the edge. But this girl? She was no coward: cowards don't stand up and kill the guy who's going to rape them. Plus, she wasn't afraid of pain, nor of death, she was even willing to hurt herself if only she'd get to die afterwards. That was insane. Worse, it was unnatural! She wasn't in pain, there was no one trying to kill her, the project goons should be thinking her dead like all the others so there wasn't anyone on her trail… What was her problem then? And then it hit him; it hit him even as he noticed a slight movement on the bed and heard the lowest whimper. He quickly resumed his post, sitting on the floor. The moment she opened her eyes, she'd see him… and he knew exactly how to turn her head around.

------------------------------------------------

The blackness was complete. It was so very peaceful! However, the moment I grasped that notion, the blackness started to fade away. It resembled a dark mist lifting away, leaving in its place a vague distorted image. I blink a few times, and the image becomes clearer: a blonde person and a white wall. Strange. I narrow my eyes and make an effort to make sense of the vision. Yes, there is a blonde man sitting against a wall. Where am I? I try to turn my head around to have a better look and feel a sharp pain in my sore neck. Oh, yes. I think I remember it now. I close my eyes and let out the air in my lungs with violence. The entire memory seems so far away!

"Feelin' more reasonable?"

I refuse to look at him. I want to will myself back into the numbing darkness and forget all about the killer and… everything! I can feel how a part of me wants to give in to despair; how it wants to cry and scream… but another part of me, as cold and as numb as death, keeps me restrained; and I'm thankful. My breath and heartbeat, though, are unsure of which party to listen to, so they decide on acting just slightly altered; and I feel so confused!

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. Ya got yar clothes and a first-aid kit over there…"

"My clodes?"

My voice sounds so strangely hoarse! My clothes? And I sit up in a second but I'm fully dressed; however the movement cleared my mind and things start to make sense. I can't help sighing and I'm forced to admit that I may just have to actually talk to the man.

"Yar new clothes. Ya remember? The ones I got ya 'cause ya were gonna clean my house? 'Course that was 'fore ya went suicidal an' all, but they're still yar clothes, anyways."

I avoid his amber eyes because I'm unsure of what to say. Oh, God! I can feel the exhaustion taking over: it shuts up those mumbling consciences, one trying to bring me over to despair, the other trying to numb me to the world. Their voices are dieing away. Dieing… I close my eyes. Why am I here? Why am I still alive? Why? Why? Why?

"Look, girl, in case ya haven't noticed yet, I got this really short fuse an' I go over the edge an' start killin' people around real easy. However, I do need someone ta keep this place up… an' I got this bad habit of acing nervous scaredy-cats. So, I could use someone who won't go all "oh-please-don't-hurt-me" every time I'm in a bad mood. An' ya kind o' look like what I've been lookin' for."

He pauses for a very short moment and I finally look at him. His eyes feel like ice. Frozen amber.

"I think ya noticed I'd love ta have simply killed ya down there. But I'd really rather keep ya alive. 'Course, if ya really up ta slittin' yar own throat like that… just try an' do it outside so ya don't mess the house even more than it already is."

He gets up. I don't feel like following his face, so I just keep staring at the place where his eyes used to be… which means I'm looking at his thighs. There's a hidden part of me that wants to chuckle, but my face can't follow the feeling and just frowns. I can feel his irritation, though. I feel so utterly, completely, absolutely…

I'm so empty!

"Look, just clean yarself up, put on the new clothes an' come down, OK? If ya really wanna die… Hey, what can I do? Ya just go ahead an' do it – there's plenty o' room in the backyard fer ya ta do it. But if ya'd rather live fer a little longer, I'll offer ya a contract. Ya don't have ta worry 'bout no "slavin'" fer me: I'll offer ya a fair deal."

Another pause. I wonder what he's waiting for, with that big speech and all the pauses. I can't frown harder, although I'm sure I'd be able to put things together if I could. Why is my mind so groggy? Why can't I think? Oh, God! I wish I could just go to sleep and forget about everything. I'm so, so tired!

"So… I'm going out fer a bit. An' ya just… do whatever ya wanna do! If ya're interested in my proposition, I'll give ya the details when I get back. If ya don't like it, ya can always ace yarself afterwards. An' if ya ain't even interested in listenin' ta what I got ta say… like I said, there's a big backyard out there. Just don't make the mess in the house, right? OK. See ya around. Or not. Whatever."

He leaves. I can hear his steps down the staircase. I can hear the door open and close. Now the car is being started… and it goes away. Away… Oh, how I want to go away! Away from everyone, everything… I want to go home.

My strength leaves me altogether and I slowly fall back to the bed. I want to go…

--------------------------------------------

The birds are singing outside the window.

I open my eyes. What am I doing here? Why am I not dead? Why didn't that man kill me? He said he would… he said he wanted to… then why did he stop me from… I force myself up. The sun is shining outside. The sun… it's been such a long time! I get off the bed and fidget a bit with the handle before I'm finally able to open the window. It smells of trees! And I can't hear anything but the birds. So peaceful!

Everything's full of green and life, outside; and I feel so empty and dead inside! How curious. Curiouser and curiouser, like the story goes. I almost smile. And this realization actually makes me smile. I'm crying again, now. The tears just come out and roll down my face, tickling me when they reach the end of the cheek. I wish I could at least cry: cry for real, sobbing away like mad. I'm sure I'd feel refreshed afterwards. I'm sure those tears and sobs would drive away the emptiness inside me. Fill it up, maybe. I wish… I don't know. I don't even know what I want. To die? Well, it would certainly put an end to my misery… I lean softly against the window and a breeze comes swirling in with the early spring perfume of grass and first blooming flowers. But to die means to lose this sun and this wind and…

The tears are still silently streaming down my face and I don't make the slightest movement to stop them. They are comforting me with their warm silent touch. My head is light, but my thoughts are strangely clear. Right now, there's a side of me that wants to stop thinking; it wants to get up and go outside and forget all the bad things. They're gone now, after all. But there's another side that's looking up at the future and seeing nothing but a lonely hidden wait for an apparent far off natural death. And I don't want to live like this. I don't want to live cut off from everything that's me, from the past that made me. But the truth is that I have no past anymore. It's like a dream that can never again be dreamt. I feel so much empty and dead thinking about that monster that awaits me at every corner of my future! I don't want to live like this! I don't! And the sun is now bathing the house's facade with its warmth. But I don't want to die either, I think. I don't want to lose this world outside, this world of warmth and comfort and… I don't want to die. No. But I don't want to live in this emptiness! And I can't think of any way to fill it! Oh, I wish there was something… I just want to feel alive. I want to feel life the way I used to! But how, if I feel so dead? How?

There's a crow inspecting the front over-grown lawn. Lisbon's crow… My mind is still light and I'm sure that's why I feel so defeated, so lost. Maybe if I wait a bit longer I'll find a way to fly home again. Home of the hot sun and of the fresh green; home of the blue river tamely flowing and of the grey river bravely over-flowing; home of peace and of … and of everything! Maybe I'll find a way to return. Maybe, if that's what's meant to be. If it is what's meant to be… But how can I support myself while looking for a way to return? If there's a way to return! I must be honest to myself; I must acknowledge that this is all just my wistful thinking, denying the so obvious and painful truth of what is now my life. But I must still look for a way… Maybe I'll return, nevertheless. Who knows what's meant to be?

But how to survive? Survive, yes, because when you feel dead inside, you don't really live, you just survive while hoping and dreaming of better days. Think! That man… he said he'd offer me a contract. He said something about… justice, I think. I need to think: I need to clear my head of this lightness and think! He doesn't want to be fair to me, he just wants a housemaid, and that's the truth of it. He wants to use me. Oh, I can't help laughing! He was nice because I'm of no use to him if I'm dead! He wants me alive… very well, then. I need to think. He'll want to kill me if I annoy him, I'm sure. He said he doesn't care about anyone, so I'm sure he'll just kill me if he decides I'm of no use to him, even alive. Which would surely end all my troubles. I really must think. The clothes on the bed… Yes, I'll have a bath. I'm filthy, but I'm sure I'll feel better after a bath and clean clothes to change into. And I'll be able to sort my mind in the mean time. Yes, that's what I must do.

There's a little voice inside me that tells me how pointless it all is. And I know it's right: being alive is as pointless as being dead, to me. Today, tomorrow or a hundred years from now – my life is doomed to be nothing but this same emptiness that fills me now. Oh, and how great a blessing would death be to this living death! The little voice becomes louder and starts to fill my ears with its reasons of loneliness and aimlessness. I grab the clothes and get into the bathroom, into the bath tub, even though it's full of filth. I open the window so I can smell the trees outside and listen to the birds and the wind blowing gently. I feel the sudden urge of my tired blood eager to go outside and bath in the sun! I won't die, I tell myself; not just right away, I won't. Not while the sun and the wind and the birds and the green are waiting for me outside. I want to feel their life; I want to pretend I'm still back home for a little while and borrow my life from the past for a few moments. Yes. I'll die later, if that's what's meant to be; but not just now. I'm tired of being dead, right now.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

To Dizi: Yupe. She'll keep him on his toes, all right.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An excerpt from the next chapter:

**9. The Contract**

"I will not sleep wid you."

His eyes widened in a sudden good-humoured surprise at the simplicity of her short sentence.

"Most women says they don't wanna do the windows…"

"Well, I do windows." Her face and voice were curiously serious and neutral, which showed she had rehearsed this conversation. "But I do not do sex wid my employer."


	10. The Contract

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 9**

**The Contract**

He could see her, leaning her head against the window. Sabretooth hoped he'd hit the nail down when he had given her the choice to die or to live working for him, instead of being his slave. After a while, she left the window and he waited, wondering what she was going to do. She still had plenty of life in her: she wouldn't have killed that guy back in the woods, nor would she have faced him if she didn't have a spark of life in her. Yeah, sure, she might be bent on getting herself killed, but she would certainly react well to the chance of having a decent life, wouldn't she?

He saw her opening the bathroom window. He sighed, not even noticing he had been holding his breath. She was going to have a bath, it seemed, which meant she was giving his proposition some thought. Sabretooth backed away into the hidden embrace of the trees on the empty lots opposite the lane where his house sit. He had left the car on a lane upper north, but now that the situation with the girl appeared to have been handled, he remembered himself that he still had to get rid of the stolen jeep. He glanced at the house one last time. He wished he didn't have to go ditch the car: it was sure to take some time, and he didn't want to leave the girl alone for too long. He swore loudly before deciding on a new course of action: he'd leave the darned thing in the middle of the woods and get rid of it later. That'd be much faster: he could be back in a half an hour and… no. He thought it over. It was probably better if he gave her more time. He'd be back in the house in an hour. That should give her enough time to set her head straight. Not to mention it would give him time to think over just what kind of contract he was going to offer her.

---------------------------------------------

When he finally decided the time was right, Sabretooth entered his house with enough noise to warn the girl of his arrival. He didn't even need to sniff around to locate her: the moment he passed into the second hall, which lead to the living room, he saw her through one of the windows, quietly sitting in the backyard. She was wearing the grey track suit he'd bought for her and her black hair was wet. He swiftly crossed the threshold of the living-room french window and squatted at her side, looking intently into her face. He noticed how she stubbornly kept her eyes on the trees ahead, even though a slight tremble in the dark irises revealed she was well aware of his presence. Sabretooth smiled inwardly with that proof of strength while wondering what she had in mind.

"So," he started casually, "Mary…"

"My name is not Mary."

Her immediate answer annoyed him and he couldn't help but open the game a bit, making sure she realized her ruses were mere child play he could catch with his eyes closed.

"Yar name ain't Maria either."

She finally looked at him and he continued the short speech he had prepared.

"So here's the deal. Like I said, I needs someone ta clean up this mess and keep it from becomin' a mess again. Ya do that, an' ya get ta live a fairly good life, since I'll be payin' fer yar expenses an' all."

He looked at her stubbornly inexpressive expression and thought she looked like she was trying to imitate some statue. He again wondered what she was thinking.

"Yer answer?"

"You say dat you pay…?"

"I will pay fer yer expenses. Ya know, clothes an' stuff ya need."

"I do not accept." Her eyes met his without any defiance or challenge, just the same stubbornness of before.

"Whaddya mean, ya don't accept?"

"I accept to clean… to work to you, but I don't want you to buy me my things. I want a salary."

He cocked an eye. She was suicidal, stubborn and independent. How interesting.

"Sure. Whaddya got in mind?"

"I'm sorry?"

"How much money d'ya want?"

"Four hundred dollars."

"Ya want what? Ya think I'm gonna be payin' a lil' piece o' shit like ya four hundred bucks a week fer house work? Lemme tell ya somethin', girlie, ya either take the deal I just gave ya or not; an' then I'll decide what ta do with ya!"

He noticed her body tremble and go stiff at the beginning of his outburst and was pleased he was finally putting her in her place. When he finished, though, her confusion was evident and she repeated herself, her voice perfectly controlled, even if a bit low.

"I want four hundred dollars. In de end of every month."

Sabretooth had opened his mouth ready to yell some more but her last sentence caught him before he could make a sound and he just shut his mouth close. Right, they're paid monthly in Europe.

"Three hundred a month an' not a cent more. Ya gonna be usin' my money ta eat, anyways, so ya ain't goona need much." His voice was gruff and testified his growing bad mood. "Anythin' else?"

"I will not sleep wid you."

His eyes widened in a sudden good-humoured surprise at the simplicity of her short sentence.

"Most women says they don't wanna do the windows…"

"Well, I do windows." Her face and voice were curiously serious and neutral, which showed she had rehearsed this conversation. "But I do not do sex wid my employer."

"I don't see no problem, there, darlin': ya ain't exactly my type either." And he gave her his most charming fanged smile.

"OK. So, no sex and three hundred bucks. Anythin' else?"

He noticed how she swallowed and got the sudden impression that her list of conditions still had a long way to go. She took a deep breath before starting her own speech.

"I will clean de house, and I will make de house be clean. I will do things in de way I think is better, but if you like me to do things in one way, den you say me what way you like and I do things in your way." She took another deep breath, while evaluating the big man's cocked eyebrow. "I will not be in your way. And if you say to me how you like things to be made, I will make dem in de way you like."

The second break was longer, and she had time to actually hold her breath for a second while gaining courage to continue. Sabretooth's expression remained carefully the same.

"I don't sleep wid you – no sex." Her cautious wording almost made him smile. She was promising to become a good entertainment. "And you pay me three hundred dollars in de end off de month. But you pay me de first month on de beginning, because I need to buy more clodes."

"Well, ya sure got ya things planned real good, don't ya?"

She swallowed again, and he enjoyed the sudden insecurity she must have been feeling: was he mocking her or serious about this 'job interview'? Maybe both, he answered in his mind.

"More one thing… when you decide to kill me, you kill me widout pain, please. And you don't hit me or beat me. If you do, de contract is ended."

"Oh, really?" He laughed softly. "An' what d'ya plan on doing if I do 'break' the contract?"

She swallowed, but her answer proved both her stubbornness and her grim, suicidal determination.

"You will kill me or let me go."

"An' if I don't?"

"I will do it myself. If you don't… If you don't end de contract de right way, if you don't kill me; den I will end de contract in your place, I will do your job. I will kill me myself."

She lifted her chin slightly, ascertaining her right to that decision.

"Ya think that threatenin' yar own life like that is gonna get ya anywhere with me, girl?"

His face was serious and his eyes shone with their icy yellowish brown colour. She looked right back into those threatening eyes and he had to admit she had guts, since there was no fear, no doubt, no trembling down her limbs.

"I don't th'eat no thing. I just say to you what… what I have intention to do. You do what you think you have to do; and I do what I think I have to do. I just want you to know my intentions. Dere aren't any th'eatings to any thing."

He frowned but he had to admit he liked her style, her daring.

"Fine. No abuse from my side. Anythin' else?"

She shrugged her shoulders.

"Well, then, if ya're done with yar conditions, how's about the shoppin' list?"

"I'm sorry?"

Sabretooth rolled his eyes.

"Ya gonna need ta buy things ta clean the place, remember? Ya were supposed ta be doing a shoppin' list so I could take ya to the shop an' ya could buy them. Any o' this familiar ta ya?"

She blinked and looked at the house through the window. Then she looked at Sabretooth again.

"Where is paper and pen, please?"

"Here, I'll show ya." He got up with a sigh which was meant to remind him that he had to be patient. Very, very patient.

---------------------------------------------------------

The steaks had a delicious scent. The waiter brought them almost with reverence to the table which allowed for a spectacular view over the river and the luxurious green of the Country Club's own park. He placed the dishes on the table and was quickly replaced by the wine boy with an expensive bottle of Médoc. He quietly and expertly opened it and poured a bit into an empty glass which rested near a flute glass half with the golden hue of true Champagne.

"Is it to your taste, Mr. Jekyll?"

"Yeah, this will do. Now get out o' my sight 'cause I wanna have a quiet meal. Am I clear?"

"Certainly, sir. Ma'am."

The lean waiter bowed to the young lady in a very inappropriate track suit as if she had been the Queen of Sheba and cautiously retreated. The restaurant was almost empty, which guaranteed that no one would be coming to interrupt the unlikely couple.

"They got great steaks in this place."

The blonde man cut his piece of meat and the plate was filled with the meat's blood red juices, further strengthening the meal's precious aroma.

"Mr. Jekyll?"

"Yeah?"

"I thought your name was Mr. Creed."

The man's yellowish eyes met the young woman's brown ones.

"My name's Creed, alright; but around here ya'll be callin' me Mr. Jekyll, like everyone else."

"It's a false name."

"Well, congratulations, ya just hit the jackpot!" His sarcasm was diluted by his complete focus on enjoying the steak he was having. "Ya may wanna eat that 'fore it gets cold."

She cut her own meat and slowly followed his example, but her unfocused eyes betrayed her thoughtfulness. She sighed.

"I'm sorry. Do you want me to don't talk when you eat or can I say something?"

"Fer as long as ya don't spoil my appetite…" He didn't even look at her, but under his mask of indifference he was carefully studying her ways.

"Is… It's because off de money."

She made a pause and he guessed she was trying to ascertain if the subject was likely to annoy him. He was careful to keep his mask up and braced himself for whatever might come so that he wouldn't lose his temper.

"I don't have any clodes. And… I don't want to buy expensive clodes, but I need to buy many."

"That's why it was best if I just paid fer whatever ya needed." He grunted. "How much money ya want?"

"I thought… I am not going to have summer holidays, but you could pay me holiday subsidy. People receive holiday subsidy in Portugal; I don't know how it is in here, but…"

Creed repressed a smile. This stubbornness about being paid and not being supported by him was amusing. It particularly amused him how she felt nervous and embarrassed although without any hint of fear of him. And even though she was trying to get some more money out of him, he knew she wasn't a money-sucking machine: he wasn't so stupid as not to realize she was going to have to spend a good amount of money to fill her clothes closet.

"Fair enough. I'll give ya an extra three hundred. What are ya planning on buyin' by the way?"

She blushed.

"I'm sorry?" Now here was an annoying habit, and he snorted.

"What's with all this 'sorry' crap?"

She seemed even more uncertain, and more blushed, and he added insecurity to the picture he was sketching of her in his mind, although he thought insecurity didn't really go well neither with her wish of independence nor with her suicidal tendencies. He took a deep breath and explained himself rather slowly.

"Why are ya always sayin' 'I'm sorry'?"

"I'm sorry." He grunted and rolled his eyes in annoyance at the expression. "I don't always understand what you say. I understand some words, but I don't always understand what you want me to say. Or do."

Her face remained handsomely flushed while her eyes wandered to the plate and nervously avoided the man's steady observation.

"Well, anyways, if I'm gonna give ya this 'holiday subsidy', I wanna know what ya'll be spendin' it on." And he couldn't avoid adding with the mellowest and more caring voice he could muster. "Did ya understand or d'ya want me ta rephrase it?"

Creed exulted as the girl turned a brighter shade of red and became even more embarrassed. Insecure to the core, he realized, although skilled on hiding it if no one started pointing out weak spots. And in face of her uncomfortable silence he charitably continued:

"What are ya going ta buy with the 'holiday subsidy'?"

She swallowed hard and tried to recover some of her lost dignity.

"I already buyed… bought! I already bought… ah… a pair of jeans and some t-shirts. To work in de house. And I bought a tennis shoes. And… ah… and some ah… interior clodes?"

"Interior… Ya mean, underwear? Like bras and panties and stuff?" And he could hardly keep from laughing as she got redder.

"I… I need… more clodes. I need shoes and… and a jacket. And more… more… ah… clodes to work… and clodes to go out… good t-shirts and tops, and good jeans, to go to shopping and to places." She was slowly recovering her bearings, although her cheeks still retained a nice pink tone. "I only bought clodes to work in de house. And not many."

She looked him straight in the eyes for the first time since she had admitted to her difficulties in understanding him and he could but admire the naivety of her manners as she pretended to be perfectly calm and in control in spite of her flushed face and racing heart.

"Are you going to pay me de holiday subsidy?"

He gave up his innocent helpful mask and grinned at her, showing his sharp fangs. She didn't flinch, and he decided to reward her with some actually helpful advice.

"Tell ya, what. I'll give ya this 'summer holiday subsidy' and also a "winter holiday subsidy'." She frowned and he quickly added. "Ya're forgettin' that winter's very cold round here; it easily goes down ta 15 degrees in the winter, not ta mention there's a good number o' snow storms every year. An' temperatures start fallin' real early, too: ya can be down ta 40 degrees as early as October! So ya gonna need plenty o' warm stuff… an' I'm sure it ain't gonna be cheap ta buy them all from scratch."

She looked at him with a puzzled expression, but was very quick to explain that she had understood him.

"I'm sorry, I understand dat winter is cold, but… I don't understand… you said fourteen degrees?"

He sighed. Europeans and their Celsius crap!

"No, I said forty, forty degrees Fahrenheit! It's close to zero Celsius degrees."

Her eyes went wide.

"In October!"

"Yupe. An' ya got the winter months always round the minus ten Celsius."

"Dat's… very cold."

"No!" He said theatrically, and grinned mischievously. "Down here, it's just cold. Very cold is what you get up in Canada. Especially as there ain't no big lakes ta ease it up."

She gave a wary smile and focused on her steak, which she hadn't eaten much of yet. In comparison, Creed was eating his with a hearty speed.

"You like dis… De cold, don't you, Mr. Creed?"

He froze. She was looking at her plate with a disheartened look on her face.

"Listen here, girl, ya better not forget ever again that the name is Jekyll! Am I clear? I've been playin' the nice guy so far, but ya don't keep yar place an' ya gonna have trouble."

"I'm sorry. Mr. Jekyll. I'm sorry, I won't forget again."

She swallowed hard, facing his dangerous amber eyes, but Creed got the impression she was more upset with messing up than with getting him mad. She wasn't scared with his threat – she wasn't even scared at all! – just embarrassed at not having done what she was expected to. He narrowed his eyes. The girl's insecurity might come handier than any fear of him, but it was best to play it safe and make sure she knew he really was dangerous and didn't just go about throwing idle threats at random people.

"I've told ya before, girl, I'm a killer; a professional hit man. So I got a whole bunch o' names I go by in many different places, but I'm mostly known as either Mr. Creed or Sabretooth."

"Sabretooth?"

"Yeah, Sabretooth. 'Cause I'm as mean and lethal as sabretooth tigers used ta be." He looked at her and finished the last piece of meat in his plate. Then he cautiously unsheathed his right hand claws. "Ya see these? They cut through flesh an' bone like butter, an' believe me, there's nothin' more fun than listenin' to the screamin' an' cryin' an' beggin' fer mercy." He sheathed them again. "But in Wausau, I'm just Mr. Jekyll. A regular everyday guy who stops by fer some well-deserved time away from some borin' well-paid job. So don't ya forget that again. Jekyll."

"Mr. Jekyll."

She repeated hoarsely and fell silent. Most of the steak was still in her plate and for a couple of minutes she made an effort to eat as much as possible under his hard stare. But she soon gave it up and gave in to her curiosity.

"It's a secret house, isn't it?"

"What are ya talkin' 'bout?"

"You need a false name because dis is your secret house. Away from… from policemen and… and enemies." She looked at him with a bit of uncertainty in her eyes and found nothing but the harsh annoyance which she knew she shouldn't be provoking.

"Look, girl, ya'll find it's healthier fer ya ta keep yer guesses ta yerself an' just do what ya're told."

There was a serious warning in his voice that anyone would have heeded to, and the girl was no exception. She looked at her plate and frowned.

"Mr. Jekyll. I use dat name in de city, in de streets; but do I use it in de house, too? Or do you want me to say 'Mr. Creed' in de house?"

"Ya can call me Mr. Creed when I'm in the house."

And he raised his hand to get the waiter's attention.

"Yes, sir?"

"I'm waiting fer the dessert!"

"I will bring the dessert menu immediately, sir."

"Never mind 'bout that! Just get me the house specialty and it better be good. Now hurry it up; I got better things ta do than ta stay here all day long."

The man hurried away while the girl made an effort to eat some more. Creed looked at her. Thanks to the troublesome kid, who had managed to spend a whole afternoon in shops, he was going to have to stay at the Heron Inn tonight. He didn't have much time to sulk at this reality, though, since the milk and cocoa sweet made a very fast appearance in his front.

"Will the young lady wish some dessert, too?"

"The only thing she's wishin' is ta finish her steak as soon as ya get lost!"

The man hadn't waited to hear the end of the blonde's very short tirade: every waiter in the restaurant knew not to disturb Mr. Jekyll when he was in a bad mood. Not that Creed really was in a bad mood; he just wasn't in a good mood. And the fact that he didn't have to repress any violent actions that would usually have accompanied his aggressive words was enough to proof it.

When Creed ended his dessert, he found the girl looking at him. He knew she'd been watching him for some minutes, but pretended not to notice it until he had finished the cold sweetness of the house specialty. Once he had wiped his mouth at the napkin and seemed to have finished his meal, she spoke.

"My name isn't Maria; you were right." He cocked an eyebrow and leaned on the chair's padded back, waiting for the rest. "My truth name isn't important. But I would like you to use dis name: Irbis."

"Lemme see if I got this right: ya want me ta call ya Irbis?"

"Yes, dat's right."

"Irbis?" He repeated half amused.

"It's anoder name for snow-leopard. It lives in de Himalayas."

"I know what an Irbis is!" He looked at her more intently. "That sounds too much like some sort of code name… Why the hell did ya pick it?"

She frowned.

"You want to know why I want to use de name Irbis?"

"Well, yeah! That was what I just asked, wasn't it?"

She shrugged.

"I like cats. I think dey're very pretty. And de irbis is very, very pretty. It lives always in de snow, up in de Himalayas, and it's white and grey but looks like is silver… And lives away from everyone… from everything. And it's very rare, too. I hear it is going to disappear… to get extinct?" She sighed and looked at the river. "De irbis has to live hide away, because people will kill him if dey see it."

"Much like yerself, huh?" He grinned at her when she looked at him. "One of a kind! All alone an' havin' ta live hidden from the guys that would love ta get ya back in their labs."

He shook his head but didn't say how stupidly sentimental that choice was. He signalled the waiter for the bill, paid for it and got up.

"C'mon, Irbis. Ya still got much ta do at the house, this evening, and yar shopping is rottin' in the car."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

To Dizi: It was supposed to be funny. What can I say? I think Creed has potential for funny scenes.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An excerpt from the next chapter:

**10. The Attack**

Once he reached the last trees near his house, he stopped and studied the windows. There was no one visible through the west side windows so he quickly approached the laundry room's window and entered the building. The voices of two men were immediately clear to his heightened hearing. He carefully set the door ajar. Now he could also smell four men in addition to Irbis' scent… and somebody's blood. The two men he could hear were talking near the kitchen's entrance, while drinking a couple of his beers. The blood came from one of them. He snuffled the need to growl and ascertained the other men's location: in the living-room, with Irbis.

"What does she think she is? Some kind o' dog! Shit, man."

"Yeah, well, she ain't gonna be bittin' nobody no more… Anyways, I'm more worried 'bout what she said. It's a weird story."


	11. The Attack

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 10**

**The Attack**

It took Irbis three days to clean Creed's room, but once it was done, he had to admit she had done an excellent job. Both bedroom and bathroom had been scrubbed from floor to ceiling; every wooden furniture, door and casement had been oiled; every piece of cloth – clothing, curtain or towel – had been washed and ironed; and the air itself had a pleasant scent to cleanness and pine tree. Creed was gleaming with his insight when he had decided to keep the girl to do the house-work: this was well worth the initial trouble.

After two nights staying at the Heron Inn he finally settled in his house. Not that he had left Irbis alone all day long. He always showed up for breakfast, lunch and dinner with some take-away food and had the girl sit down in the kitchen with him. He had decided that it was best to give her the impression she was a free woman, which meant trusting her alone in the house doing her job, but was still hesitating at leaving her completely by herself, which explained why he always ate with her in the still dusty kitchen.

On this day, after sleeping in his own perfectly cleaned bedroom, Creed was feeling particularly happy. He woke up early, even before Irbis had waken; he checked her sleeping body, wrapped in some sheets on the living-room's floor, and left the house. He roamed a bit within the woods in his own backyard, which was a 120 feet long and 90 feet wide wood; then he crossed his property's limits into the wooded mount which stretched north for 500 feet and was 3800 feet wide. At 7 a.m., though, he was already driving his land-rover to the closest diner.

When he entered the house, he knew Irbis was up and working. He had made enough noise coming in, so she quickly left the upper floor and joined him in the kitchen.

"Good morning, Mr. Creed."

He was already sitting at the table and holding a big burger sandwich, so he didn't bother answering and just started eating. She quickly joined him, but he noticed she was slower to eat than usual. Figured she'd be up to something, and waited for her to speak, which she didn't do often – another proof of her insecurity and shyness.

"Mr. Creed…" He gave her his entire attention, effectively making the girl uncomfortable. "I… ah, I am going to clean a room to me, today."

"Sure. I don't want ya sleepin' in the livin'-room fer the rest o' yar life."

"And I'm going to clean de kitchen, also, next."

"Good. I'm getting' tired o' buying three meals a day. The moment ya finish it, ya can start doin' the cookin' yerself."

She frowned and stood her ground, as if wanting to say something else, but remained silent.

"Anythin' else ya wanted ta say?"

"Ah… I am going to need to go shopping again."

He took a deep breath. She'd gone shopping four days ago and she needed more stuff already!

"Fine. Then get the shoppin' list an' I'll drive ya ta the store later on. Right now, I'm goin' fer a spin."

"Mr. Creed?"

"What?" He hated that low insecure voice she sometimes used. It was one of the things that got him ready to rip throats out.

"Ah… You… Are you going to drive me to de shops every time?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"You don't live here every time, do you? When you go away, I will not be capable to go to de shops; I will have to walk."

She looked at him half way between nervous and embarrassed. He sighed. She had a point. He swore lightly under his breath before making his decision.

"Well, then, I'll suppose I'll just have ta teach ya ta drive, won't I?"

"I can drive! I learned to drive when I was fifty years old."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"I think ya mean fifteen years old." She frowned, apparently not understanding his remark. "Anyways, if ya can drive then ya can go shoppin' all by yerself, startin' today. Come here."

He crossed the kitchen door into the garage and she followed. It was a wide space with plenty of shelves and a long working bench, not to mention it harboured an impressive Harley-Davidson, a snow-mobile, a grand-looking land-rover and an ordinary mini-van. Creed patted the mini-van's white hood.

"Ya can use this one. It was from the former house's owner, so ya can consider it yours. All the rest is mine an' ya don't touch them. Got it?"

She frowned and came closer to it, stopping to read the letters which identified the car as a Chevrolet Venture LS. She peeked inside and checked the grey interior. It was roomy and seemed comfortable. Creed cocked an eyebrow as she opened the door and sat down; he leaned on the land-rover and watched her roam through the dashboard for nearly five minutes and when she finally got out she had a displeased expression. Then she checked the other doors, ending with the rear door. Having finished that part of the inspection, she cautiously went over and opened the hood to stare at the engine and actually touch this or that part. When she closed the hood, she gave one last global look and wrinkled her nose in disgust. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders.

"Fine." She said, a disgusted look still on her pale face, and mumbled: "A cavalo dado não se olha o dente."

"What's that ya just said?" Creed almost growled at the surprised girl; he hadn't like the look on her face and whatever she had said it was either about the car, about him or both.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sorry, my ass! Ya don't go yappin' 'bout in anythin' other than English, ya hear me? Now, what did ya just say?" His eyes were burning with fury and the girl looked mildly amazed, her cheeks blushing slightly.

"I speaked in Portuguese… it means… ah… it means… you don't see de… de tooths off de horse someone gives to you."

"What?" She wasn't lying, he could tell that, but that didn't mean she was making any sense.

"It was something we say in Portugal. It means… De car… it is my, now; you gaved it to me. And I don't like it, but it was gaved to me so… I don't… I can't complain."

He frowned, growling softly.

"Ya better not forget ta speak proper English round me, girl. Don't even dream ya can have fun 'cause I don't understand what ya says in Portuguese. I think ya ain't playin' it straight with me an' ya'll be in big trouble. Am I clear?"

She nodded with her head, her cheeks still flushed. Creed went to a little box near the kitchen door and took out a key.

"Here's the car key. I'm gonna leave ya some money so ya can go shoppin'."

"Wait, Mr. Creed!"

He ground his teeth together. Now what?

"I don't have a… a… I don't know de name: a document to drive a car. If de policemen stop me, I don't have any documents."

He gave a deep sigh. Patience, patience, patience. Easier said than done! He took another deep breath.

"Fine. Just do a darned shoppin' list with everythin' ya gonna need in the next days. In the next weeks, if possible! Think ya can handle that?"

She nodded in silence.

"Good." He took another deep breath while sorting what to do. "I'll be leavin' today. I'll go fix ya some documents so ya can go round with no problems an' I should be back in one or two weeks. So make sure ya won't be needin' ta go shoppin' in the mean time."

She nodded again and took a deep breath. Creed's shoulders slumped, wondering if a clean house really was worth this trouble.

"What else d'ya need?"

She held her breath for a second then shook her head with energy.

"It is nothing. I go do de shopping list."

He watched her hurry past him and wondered what other problem she was revolving in that head of hers. He quickly went over the recently shaped plan: he'd get a plane at the Wausau Airport to California where he'd get in touch with a low profile contact he had in the area. The documents – she'd need an id, a driver's license… maybe a passport since she was too obviously a foreigner… Anyway, the whole set of documents wouldn't take more than 4 to 5 days and he'd be back in Wausau in six days, top. He grinned. He'd come back incognito so he'd be able to check the girl's normal behaviour. If she pleased him, he would keep her for longer; if she didn't, he'd have his fun once the house was all set. Thinking of his own room, though, he hoped she'd behave: it would be nice to have the entire house in such a good shape every time he felt like stopping by.

--------------------------------------------------

Sitting in a cab, Creed glanced at his watch: fifteen minutes past eleven am.

"Stop there, right after that lane."

The driver stopped where told and Creed got out. He waited for the car to disappear in the distance while checking the two sets of documents he had brought with him from San Francisco. Then he walked into the woods to his left. His house was right on the other side and he placed himself in a hidden snug, pulling out a pair of binoculars. He had left in the evening of the 28th of May and had managed to make his contact pull those fake papers in a record time: id, driver's license, passport and security number for two people in four days! He had almost considered spending the last night in town for some fun, but ended up getting a plane at midnight instead. He idly wondered what had the girl been up to in those four days he'd been gone.

As soon as he started studying the house's front, though, he knew something was wrong: there was an unknown car parked in front of his garage. He growled and ran down the lane, away from the house's range before he crossed the road to the other side. He immediately made it to the back of the houses, where there was always a tree cover, and swiftly made his way up to his house. He checked his watch as he did so: 11.19.

Once he reached the last trees near his house, he stopped and studied the windows. There was no one visible through the west side windows so he quickly approached the laundry room's window and entered the building. The voices of two men were immediately clear to his heightened hearing. He carefully set the door ajar. Now he could also smell four men in addition to Irbis' scent… and somebody's blood. The two men he could hear were talking near the kitchen's entrance, while drinking a couple of his beers. The blood came from one of them. He snuffled the need to growl and ascertained the other men's location: in the living-room, with Irbis.

"What does she think she is? Some kind o' dog! Shit, man."

"Yeah, well, she ain't gonna be bittin' nobody no more… Anyways, I'm more worried 'bout what she said. It's a weird story."

Creed almost growled this time; the girl had spilled her guts out to these geeks and he had just lost his 'holiday-house'. Dammit all to hell!

"Yeah. And it's got too many holes! Not to mention I think she speaks more English than she lets out."

Creed left the laundry room and hid next to the counter, getting ready to jump the trespassers when he suddenly froze.

"And who's this Jekyll guy? I ain't ever heard o' the name before. The boss has never heard it either."

Jekyll? The girl had used his fake name… Creed smiled, satisfied, and eased a bit, wanting to listen to the rest of the dialogue.

"Yeah, well, it makes no difference. If Carter can't find no information on the guy, it's 'cause it's a false name an' the girl's lying. An' if he gets anythin' on him, then we'll just hunt him down."

The ringing of a phone echoed from the living room and one of the men left. The one pressing a towel to his neck stayed behind. He let go of the beer bottle and looked at the towel, which had several blood stains.

"Darned bitch…"

His voice died away under the low cracking sound of his neck. Creed eased the body to the floor and reached the passage to the living-room.

"Yeah? OK… Sure, no problem. What's the guy's name again? Robbie Stocker, got it."

Two men were standing facing the windows; the other one, probably the leader, was now turning the mobile phone off and was facing the other two.

"Carter ain't found no Jekyll fittin' this girl's guy. We're takin' her down to Fernandez; he wants ta see her. Hey, Truman, we're leavin'!"

"C'mon, girl…"

A short red-head guy moved over to the arm-chair whose back was turned to the kitchen's entrance, but before he got close enough Creed jumped him and slashed his throat. The leader yelled to the other standing man to shoot, but it was already too late as his chest had been cut open. Scared and swearing, the leader started shooting his own gun, but couldn't get out more than three bullets. Growling, Creed grabbed his wrist and twisted the man's arm in an unnatural way. He fell to the ground, yelling in pain, and Creed calmly went over to the armchair where Irbis was.

She was out cold. Looking at her face, Creed swore under his growling: her left eye was blackened and swollen, her lips cut in several places and her whole face was bruised. There was dried blood over her mouth and chin, which he quickly related to the bitten neck of the first guy he'd killed, but which only added to her beaten appearance.

Creed got up and caught the men's leader by the collar.

"Let's start by the beginnin': yer name, who ya're workin' fer and what ya're doin' here."

"Ya freakin'…"

"Wrong answer." And he lifted the man off the floor, levelling him with his face. "Ya wanna find out just how much pain ya can handle 'fore ya black out?"

---------------------------------------

Creed was having a beer in the kitchen, looking at the three bodies nicely stashed in an out of the way corner. A knocked out man with his hands and feet tied was resting on the human pillow the bodies provided. Creed was working out his next actions, but there were some information he still needed before making any final decisions. Then he heard a low moan. He looked at his watch: it was 12:37.

Irbis was lying down on the sofa. When she managed to slit her eyes open, the first thing she saw was a big blonde man peering down at her with a bored expression.

"How're ya feelin'?"

She rolled to her side very slowly, in an awkward attempt to sit herself, and moaned through the whole two minute procedure. Creed sighed, acknowledging her answer; then he placed his big hands on her slender shoulders and had her in a sitting position in two seconds.

"There. Feelin' better now?"

She didn't answer, but she didn't moan either, so he took it as a yes.

"Ya gonna tell me what happened in my house while I left ya in charge of it?"

She looked at him, hissing slightly as she probed her face with a hand. He noticed how she couldn't fully open her left eye and felt like killing those guys all over again, only in a slower, more painful way so they'd learn not to mess with his properties. She sighed.

"I was… I was cleaning de living-room. I listened to a car and I thought it was you. I went to see, at de window; and den I saw de men. I ran away. I left by de big window, dere." She motioned a hand in the direction of the large french windows. "I ran in de trees. I listened to de men coming behind me, and I ran and ran until I stopped hearing dem. Den I walk… I didn't know where I was; I didn't know where de house and de street was. I walked until I was tired, den I stop and sitted down and… and waited. I didn't know what to do, Mr. Creed."

She closed her eyes and her chin trembled a bit. She took a couple of deep breaths before opening her eyes again and continuing her story.

"I stay stopped in de same place many time. I tried to listen people and cars, but I could only listen de birds… and I didn't know what to do!" A new sigh. "I wanted to phone to you, to tell you what was happening… but I didn't know, and I didn't have money or documents or… And den dey discover me… I tried to run again but dey catch me and dey… dey catched my arm and dey did like dis…"

She slowly placed an arm behind her back, feebly simulating someone twisting it. Creed nodded his understanding and she continued.

"I tried to fight, but I don't know fighting!" She shook her head, her chin trembling a bit more. "I kicked dem and… and… I don't know! I moved a lot, trying to run. One time, one man let go off me, because I kicked him; he let go, but de oders catched me again and… and beat me? Like dis…"

She closed her fist and gave a weak punch in the air.

"They punched ya." Creed offered, and showed his own closed fist. "When ya hit somebody with a closed fist like that, it's called a punch."

"Punch… Yes, dey punched me and I… I don't know the word: I went to sleep? Things went black?"

"They knocked ya out." Creed again explained with some patience. "They hit ya hard an' ya fainted."

"Knock out?" She frowned and hissed when the movement hurt her bruised face. "Like in box? When dey write KO?"

"Yeah," Creed chuckled, "like in boxing. Don't tell me ya like boxing?"

"Hun… No, but I saw it in TV sometimes… and I saw some World Wrestling, too."

"Right. What happened when ya woke up?"

"I was here. They asked about who has de house, and I said I work for a man called Mr. Jekyll, like you telled me to do."

"Ya did good." He noticed her relieved sigh at his comment. "What else did ya tell 'em?"

She shrugged.

"I don't know. I said I didn't speak much English, and I said I didn't understand dem many times… but dey didn't believe me and dey hitted me and always ask de same things: Who do I work for? Who is Mr. Jekyll? How you got de house? What you do? Who I am? What do I do to you..."

"And ya told them…"

"Dat my name is Irbis, dat I am from Spain, dat I clean de house and dat I work to Mr. Jekyll. And den I always said I don't know or I don't understand."

"Good girl!" He smiled at her, proud of having such a well-behaved housekeeper. And she continued, this time with a sense of urgency.

"Den dey phoned to deir employer. Dey called him Mr. Alvarez. And one off de men, I think it was de… de boss off de four men; well, de boss off de men, he called Mr. Alvarez and he said his name is Morrison and he told him all I said. And Mr. Alvarez said dat he's going to have a man… qual era o nome… ah… Card something, I can't remember. And de Card-something, he was going to find out who are you, who is Mr. Jekyll."

She looked at Creed with some uncertainty, waiting for a reaction. In face of her bruises and insecurity, he rewarded her with a pleased wide grin.

"Ya did good, girl. Better than I expected, really." He let those words sink down on her for a moment. "Now, go wash yer face an' put some clean clothes on. And hurry!"

She nodded and slowly rose to her feet. When she started walking, though, Creed noticed her taking a hand to her side and hiss.

"Hold on!"

He moved to her side, took her hand away and placed his own hand over the bruised spot. She hissed and tried to pull away, but another hand on her shoulder kept her in place.

"They hit ya here, too?" She nodded. "And on the other side?" She nodded again.

He picked the hem of her T-shirt up to her chest. He could feel both her surprise and confusion, but he was more concerned with other matters. He gently probed her ribs with his hands, ignoring the obvious pain it caused the girl. When he was over, he pulled it down.

"Ya can breathe, now." He suppressed a grin at her wide puzzled eyes. "Ya ain't got nothin' displaced in there… but that don't mean there ain't nothin' fractured. I suppose I should take ya to a hospital or somethin'."

He took a deep breath before revealing his thoughts.

"Thing is, ya can't just waltz into some hospital… if ya do have a different DNA or somethin' else that's different from the rest of us, normal folks, then ya'd be in big trouble." There was a thoughtful pause in his speech. "Oh, well. We'll see 'bout that later."

A sudden thought crossed his mind as she was starting to reach the stairs and he grinned. He quickly came up to her side as she mounted the first steps.

"Hey, girl, I've been thinkin'… what would ya say to a nice lil' holiday in your cleanin' schedule, huh?"

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An excerpt from the next chapter:

**11. Field Trip**

She lowered her eyes and looked like she was trying to make herself smaller than she was. Sabretooth sighed, shook his head and viciously kicked Morrison's legs and arms, then moving to his torso. When he finally thought it was enough, he walked away to where Alvarez was lying on the floor. He stopped by Irbis's side.

"Ya want him dead? He's right over there: finish him off."

She raised her eyes to him, and he could barely see the moist shivering in them. She was clutching her arms around her chest.

"how… I…"

Sabretooth took her by the hand and harshly pushed her closer to the whimpering man.

"Makes no difference how ya do it, just as long as ya do it."


	12. Field Trip

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 11**

**Field Trip**

Morrison, with his arm bandaged into an impromptu splint and filled to the brim with painkillers, sat quietly on the back seat of Creed's Land Rover. Creed had promised to drop him by a hospital if he did everything exactly as told, and he seemed willing to give it a try. Creed was driving, and Irbis sat at his side, holding a bag of ice against her swollen eye. The airport was just around the corner. Creed parked his car and helped Morrison staying up on his feet. They carefully entered the building and searched for Robbie Stoker.

It was close to four in the afternoon when they finally saw him: a short-haired blond youth with playful green eyes. According to Morrison, Robbie was Alvarez's newest addition to the pay-roll: a young but excellent pilot who often smuggled goods across the US northern frontier, into Canada, or across the southern frontier, into Mexico and Columbia. Alvarez himself was living in Canada, and that was where they were going: if Alvarez wanted to meet Irbis, then by all means, he would meet her! After all, everyone has a right to a last wish, right?

Robbie, as he preferred to be called, knew better than to ask any questions. Once Creed told him he was going to fly the three of them to see Alvarez, he simply led them to the hangar, let them in the plane and went out to prepare the flight plane. Half an hour later, they were up in the clouds.

It was a two-hour flight, and Creed had the chance to review his plan. He still wasn't very sure about bringing the girl along, but she had already proved she had a healthy killer instinct, even if she couldn't fight. He would have preferred that she could at least shoot, but apparently she had never held anything other than a hunting rifle in her hands, and had never shot anything at all in her whole life. Not even a sling-shot! Had he thought this Alvarez to be a dangerous fellow, he wouldn't have brought her, but from what he had put together, through both Morrison's and Robbie's words, he was no one truly dangerous.

Apparently, the house he now owned in his alias of Mr. Jekyll had belonged to Alvarez's brother-in-law, Matthew Lardoni-Stevenson, whom Creed had been hired to kill. The guy and his family being aced, Creed's employer, a Richard Barrymore, had managed to get the property lost from the Government's hands. Creed, who had thought the house impressive, well-located and well-built, had waited a few months before taking out Barrymore and his family, too. In the end, the house had become definitely lost, although still under Matthew Lardoni-Stevenson's name.

This whole situation, though, had happened some four years ago. Three years later, Alvarez had started some dealings in the hope of getting the house back in his hands, but found no helpful answer to his enquiries; thus, he had placed the house under surveillance. No one lived in the house at the time, but it was clear it had been inhabited shortly before the beginning of the surveillance. However, since there was no reason to keep a constant watch, Alvarez would simply send in his men at the beginning of each month to check the place out. And unfortunately for Irbis, she had been alone on the day Morrison and his three stooges had showed up.

As the plane approached the airport, Creed had everything planned and he was feeling calm and relaxed.

------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting in a charming array of fire red and orange, but Sabretooth was much more charmed with the task that lay ahead. He had quickly analyzed Alvarez's place, finding its strengths and weaknesses, and was now deciding on the best place to stash away Morrison and Irbis. It had to be somewhere safe, where no one would think of going for a couple of hours, so that he didn't need to worry whether the girl was OK or not. After some time, he decided on an abandoned house a couple of blocks down the street. It was close enough but not conspicuous.

Creed carried Morrison in like a bag of potatoes and dropped him on the floor away from any windows, his hands and feet securely tied. He then instructed Irbis: no lights or noise that might get somebody's attention, no going near any window. If the guy became noisy, she was to knock some sense into him, and ideally some consciousness out of him, too. She nodded her still bruised but serious face and sat down on the floor while Creed exited the litter filled place.

--------------------------------------------------

The sun had set but there was still a remaining shred of golden light lingering in the sky. On the other hand, the land was already tugged under the night's cool shadow. This contrast gave people the illusion of plenty of light, even though the reality was that their eyes were already failing to grasp the finer yet rather important details which can make the difference between life and death.

Under the cloak of the setting-sun light, which enhanced the mimetic abilities of his brown and dry-orange uniform, Sabretooth approached Alvarez's stately house. They weren't expecting any problems, so there weren't any guards; the only security being the one provided by surveillance cameras. It was a child's play. Sabretooth avoided the cameras' angle of vision and entered the property. Once he reached the house, he opened an unlocked window and found himself in an empty study. Opening the study's door, he sniffed around the corridor and quickly discovered the entire household peacefully dining in the dining-room. A cook was busy in the kitchen, while a house-maid served the Alvarez family. He left that part of the house unnoticed and went downstairs, to the basement where two thugs were eating dinner and watching TV, their backs turned to the surveillance screens. Sabretooth grunted in disapproval: he might as well have walked in through the main entrance and nobody would have noticed!

Those were the first to die. Then came the cook, who got a broken neck even before noticing there was anyone else with her, followed by the maid, who got a slit throat the moment she crossed the kitchen's threshold. He sniffed around and grinned: Alvarez was waiting for his roast beef.

Sabretooth waited in the corridor. He could hear Mrs. Alvarez complaining over Alice's sloppy waitress job. There were three kids in there: he could hear the girly teenager sighs at every sharp word of the mother, mingled with the stubborn but sweet voice of a young lady trying to diminish the mother's petty reasons and a youth's deep voice, casually discussing a job opportunity with his father. Finally, Alvarez gave in to his wife's bickering and yelled for the maid. It was Sabretooth's cue.

Opening the door with the style and poshness of a true British butler, Sabretooth brought a large tray over to the table under the shocked and frightened expressions of the family and gracefully uncovered it revealing the delicious looking roast beef. Then he straightened himself up and said as phlegmatically as possible:

"Ya rang, m'lord?"

"What the…"

He didn't have time to finish, though, as Sabretooth promptly hit him in the face, breaking his nose. The women started screaming while the young boy grabbed a knife and tried to stab the giant that had just hit his father. It was an effort that cost him a swift death.

"Now, who's next?"

The older girl made a dash to the door, her eyes wide with terror. Unfortunately for her, though, Sabretooth was standing in her way. The younger girl, no more than 15 years old, kept her voice at a high shrill impossible to bear for long, and was taken out next, followed by the mother, silent and unable to move by shock. The whole killing didn't take more than two minutes, and once it was over Sabretooth walked over to Alvarez, who was looking at his dead family with a stupidly blank face, his hands over his bleeding nose and his eyes wide with disbelief. Standing at the man's side, Sabretooth looked at his handy work before turning to speak to him.

"Hey, don't feel so bad 'bout it: try an' see the bright side, will ya? Ya're gonna be joinin' them real soon. Now, come on!"

------------------------------------------------

Sabretooth approached the abandoned house and checked for scents of other people. Not feeling anything new, he knocked three times on the door, to warn Irbis of his arrival, and then knocked it down to come in himself. He turned a corner and there they were, exactly where he had left them. Irbis got up just as Sabretooth dropped a gagged Alvarez at her feet. Irbis blinked down at the man, unable to fully see him in the dark building. Sabretooth reached down and pulled out the napkin he had thrown down the man's mouth to keep him from talking and pulled him up on his feet.

"Ya wanted ta meet Irbis, Mr. Jekyll's housekeeper?" He motioned a hand in her direction. "Well, here she is. Irbis, meet the guy who sent those assholes ta beat ya up and kill ya after havin' some fun with ya."

She looked at both men with a blank expression. Alvarez, although still in shock, started mumbling words she didn't understand at first, but which became clearer as his voice got louder, fuelled by a blind desperation.

"You're a monster… why did you… my children, why did you… because of this bitch? How monstrous can a man be? They were children, my God! You won't… you can't get away with…"

"Oh, put a lid on!" Sabretooth once more stashed the napkin down the man's mouth and turned to Irbis.

"So, whaddya wanna do with 'em?"

She looked at him and blinked, not understanding.

"They're the guys who were gonna be behind yar death, right? So, my question is, how d'ya wanna ace 'em?"

She blinked at him once more.

"You want me to kill them?"

"Do you wanna kill 'em?"

She looked thoughtful for a minute, then she glanced at both men.

"I don't want to know about him." She pointed at Alvarez. "You can do what you want with him. But he…"

She turned her back on Sabretooth to better look at the man, hurt and tied at her feet. She turned to Sabretooth once more.

"I want him to be beated first. Before dieing."

"Hey, his right over there: have fun! Ya don't havetta ask my permission."

She blinked and Sabretooth saw her aghast expression.

"I… Can you please… I don't…"

"Oh, great! Get outta my way!"

And here he had been fixing things so she could get even by her own hands! He grabbed Morrison by his collar, while the man begged and squirmed in desperation, his eyes wide with terror in spite of being clouded over with the drugs he had had earlier. Sabretooth punched him a few times, careful not to knock him out. He couldn't believe he had misunderstood the girl! She had cut a man open and been happy about it, if that wasn't a killer instinct he was a priest! She had wanted a man beaten around before seeing him dead! So what was this "no sullying hands in blood" crap? He finally let the man fall down and kicked him a couple of times. Sabretooth turned to the girl. She was watching the show with an inexpressive face.

"Wanna give it a try?"

She lowered her eyes and looked like she was trying to make herself smaller than she was. Sabretooth sighed, shook his head and viciously kicked Morrison's legs and arms, then moving to his torso. When he finally thought it was enough, he walked away to where Alvarez was lying on the floor. He stopped by Irbis's side.

"Ya want him dead? He's right over there: finish him off."

She raised her eyes to him, and he could barely see the moist shivering in them. She was clutching her arms around her chest.

"how… I…"

Sabretooth took her by the hand and harshly pushed her closer to the whimpering man.

"Makes no difference how ya do it, just as long as ya do it."

He retreated to the back and left her near the body. She was as still as a statue. Then she started moving, very slowly and insecurely, and placed herself in front of the man's head. Another second and Sabretooth saw her pull her right foot back, preparing herself and getting some momentum for the kick that inevitably came crashing into the man's head. He lay perfectly still, and she slowly backed away after a moment.

"He ain't dead yet."

She looked back at Sabretooth.

"Ya may have caused him enough damage ta eventually kill'im, but he may also not be hurt enough." She looked a bit unsure, so he added his own suggestion. "Try an' give a few more kicks to the head. Or aim at the neck."

She resumed her previous position and kicked the man's head until she was panting and clutching her bruised side with her left hand. Sabretooth had known he was dead after the third kick, but didn't say anything and let her have her fun. Even though she didn't exactly look like she was having fun, he grunted. When she stopped, she waited a bit, getting her breath back.

"OK, that's enough. He's as dead as he gonna get."

Sabretooth was about to turn his back on her when he saw her stooping down to feel the man's neck.

"What the hell are ya doin'?"

"I'm trying to find de man's… ah… heart beat. In de vein in de neck."

"Ya don't have ta. I told ya he's dead."

"I want to have de certainty."

She quietly got up and went back to the door Sabretooth had knocked down when he had arrived. He stayed behind and quickly killed Alvarez. He was careful not to use his claws, this time, and just gave him a couple of well aimed kicks which soon broke his neck. Before leaving he put on his normal clothes, as they'd be going back to the airport.

Irbis was near the deserted lane, her left shoulder against an old tree. The night was empty. The only sounds were those of the wind in the recent leaves and grass and the monotonous cricket song multiplied to the infinite. He approached her in silence, discreetly sniffing the wind. He couldn't discover the slight scent of fear, nervousness, adrenaline or even tears. When he was close enough, he focused his attention on listening to her breathing and heartbeat, but both were even. Usually, these indications meant somebody in shock, but he had seen enough of this girl to know that wasn't it. The truth was that he had no clue about what was going on in her head and that made him uncomfortable: he was used to picking up people's mindsets and feelings thanks to his heightened senses. Standing at her side, he breathed in the night perfume vigorously.

"A great night, eh?"

He was expecting a sigh. He had noticed she did it all the time, sighing, so it seemed to be the most natural answer to his neutral question, although the idea annoyed him tremendously.

"It's very pacific."

"Huh?" He hated it when she didn't do what he expected her to do.

"Dis." She didn't move, just gazed ahead with sad eyes. "It is as if de time have stopped. De wind… de crickets… I like night very much."

"Don't say."

Then she sighed, and Sabretooth was pleased that she had done what he had predicted. He gazed around him, taking in the darkness, the milky light of the street lamps painting the tree leaves, which quietly rocked to the wind gusts, too high to be felt by people on the street, but low enough to produce the mute ruffle that filled the air.

"It's kinda nice, I suppose. But there's way too much light."

"Yes, it's truth. De posts give too much light. Pena…"

They both stood there, just looking ahead at the darkened lane. Creed was starting to feel uncomfortable and decided it was the street lamps' fault. He reached down and picked up a couple of stones. He gave a couple of steps to the side until he had a street lamp well in sight, then he threw a stone and the light went out with an obscenely loud crash. The sound seemed to reverberate in the night and he felt the need to drown it down, so he aimed at the next street lamp and threw another stone. The new crash noise effectively overcame the previous reverberation, but also remained in the air with its upsetting echo. For a couple of minutes, Creed was busy putting every light out of commission in that area. Once it was done, his chest was heaving up and down as if he had done a great effort, even if he wasn't tired at all.

"Ah! Muito melhor! It is very best now!"

Creed saw Irbis smiling delightedly at the darkness. There was no light that could reveal the tree tops, now, and the ruffling noise of the wind against the trees' leaves gave the whole place an eerie alien quality. She briefly looked at Creed, still smiling and surrounded by the crickets' chaotic songs, then she looked at the invisible tree tops.

"Yeah, well… We better get going. We still gotta get ta the airport an' there's someplace I wanna go."

She didn't say anything, but started walking in Creed's direction. There was still a half forgotten smile dancing upon her face, lighting it in spite of the darkness. Creed waited till she was just a couple of feet from him and also started walking to the car he had rented and which was parked down the lane.

"Ah, que pena!"

"Huh?" He felt too odd to be annoyed by the foreign expression.

"Dere's still light here."

Creed looked at the street lamps.

"So what? Ya wanna go break 'em too?"

She chuckled but didn't say anything for a while. When they reached the car and she pulled her seat belt into position, though, she couldn't help but reveal the thought that had kept a mischievously shy grin on her face.

"I don't have aim."

Creed glanced at her and started the car.

"That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An excerpt from the next chapter:

**12. Settling Down**

"Yeah, Mr. Creed. Why? Ya're expectin' somebody else."

She frowned and stood her ground. She better not give him any lip, he thought to himself as he went upstairs. Fortunately for the girl, his room was in perfect shape so there was no reason to give her an early grave. He had a quick shower and got in some clean clothes, but his mood wasn't improving yet. He figured he'd need to eat something first. When he came down and didn't see her fixing him some food, his mood just got worse.


	13. Settling Down

Disclaimer: I don't own any characters except Naomi, Irbis and several innocent short-lived bystanders; everything else is Marvel's only.

**Chapter 12**

**Settling Down**

Irbis got up at 5.30 am. She always got up very early: as soon as the sun started lighting her room, she couldn't help but wake up… and for as much as she always tried to will herself back to sleep, she just could never stay in bed once she was awake. She took a quick shower and put on a pair of jeans, a large T-shirt and a pair of grey trainers. It was still cold outside, but she opened the bedroom window nonetheless so some fresh air could come in. She then proceeded to open Mr. Creed's bedroom windows, too. She had no idea when he might show up again, but she always made sure that his bedroom was more than ready to receive him.

Downstairs, she fixed her breakfast and sat down near the bay window. On the wall between the two kitchen windows, Irbis had set up a calendar. Today was the 20th of June. She sighed. Mr. Creed had left her alone in the house for 17 days, now, but it felt like 17 months. Everyday she had followed the same routine: get up at 5.30, fix her bedroom and Mr. Creed's, have breakfast, do the laundry, clean, have lunch, clean some more, have dinner, iron clothes, go to bed at 10 pm. She had broken down the house into its rooms, and worked on them for two days each: dusting, and vacuum-cleaning, and washing, and oiling, and… It was tiresome. But she was glad she was busy. Today, though, there was nothing for her to do. She had finished cleaning everything; there weren't any clothes or towels needing washing or ironing. Everything was shining in the house.

Irbis finished eating her bread and butter and drinking her milk. She silently took the things to the sink, washed them, rinsed them and put them away in their right places. Now what? The idea of having nothing to do, of being left with her own thinking, scared her. She didn't want to think, because she was sure she couldn't think of anything else besides what she had lost: her home, her family, her future.

She went back to the bay window in the kitchen. Well, there was something left doing after all. The many pots that had cluttered the window sill and the floor were all gone, but the spot seemed empty. Irbis thought it was time to go look for some new plants to populate the empty pots… only it was still too early and all the shops were closed. She sighed and shook her head.

She went upstairs, got a jacket and went down to the backyard. The air was very cold: it almost seemed like it was spring, not summer. And a very rainy spring, too: the first half of the month had seen a constantly clouded over sky with rain coming down every other day. She looked up at the sky. There were come clouds today, but she was sure that the day would be mostly sunny, as the last four days had been, and that it would be hot and humid, and that the evening would bring along dark clouds which would hang over threatening a thunderstorm that would never come. The floor was covered by long grasses, and bushes were invading the tree-free area which enveloped the house for 3 metres. Well, here was something else for her to do: put some order in this overgrown jungle! She didn't really felt like it, though. Every morning she had had to force herself into action, but now that her primary function was fulfilled, it all just seemed so… pointless.

She remembered the day when those men had come into the house and beaten her up. Mr. Creed had saved her, then. He had taken her to Canada and then he had killed the men's boss. Not to mention he had made her kill one of the man who had injured her. She didn't like to think about it, though. She wished she could wipe out from her mind all the death she had seen and felt in the last couple of months.

Irbis willed herself to go to the garage and soon discovered a lawn-mower. It was a modern machine that resembled a little car where you could sit while driving and mowing the grass. She cleaned it, filled it with fuel from some cans on a corner and brought it out. She decided on starting with the front lawn and got herself working. It wasn't hard work, though. Rather boring, actually. The only time she had felt truly at peace in this… this new world, had been that night in Canada, when Mr. Creed had broken the street lamps and everything had been wrapped in the quiet darkness and the crickets' relaxing noise. They had gone to the airport, afterwards, and he had booked a private airplane to take them to British Columbia. There he had taken her to a man he knew, a doctor. He had checked her up, made sure there was no real damage from the beating, prescribed some pills and balms and off they'd gone to fret another plane that took them back to Wausau. He had left the next day.

It wasn't that she really wanted that man's company; it was just that… she didn't know. She supposed it might be because he knew who she was, where she had come from; and no one else could ever know about that. In a way, it made him the closest person she could get to. Only common sense directed he should be the last person anyone should get close to.

She took a deep breath. Ah! There was nothing more invigorating than the perfume of freshly cut grass!

-------------------------------------------------

The cool early morning mist was fading away when Creed parked his bike in front of the garage. He didn't bother to place it inside. He was in a bad mood and actually slammed the door when he got in the house.

"Mr. Creed?" The girl entered the house through the living room french window slightly startled.

"Yeah, Mr. Creed. Why? Ya're expectin' somebody else."

She frowned and stood her ground. She better not give him any lip, he thought to himself as he went upstairs. Fortunately for the girl, his room was in perfect shape so there was no reason to give her an early grave. He had a quick shower and got in some clean clothes, but his mood wasn't improving yet. He figured he'd need to eat something first. When he came down and didn't see her fixing him some food, his mood just got worse.

"Hey! Whatchya think ya're doin'? Ya should be fixin' me some breakfast of sorts!"

She looked up at him from her gardening with a surprised expression.

"Whatchya're waitin' for? Get me some scrambled eggs an' coffee; an' make it snappy."

She quickly took off her gloves and almost ran to the kitchen. Her readiness to work eased his mood only slightly. He left the backyard and entered the living-room, turning on the TV and sprawling himself on the armchair facing it.

Not five minutes had gone by when he smelled a different but nice aroma from the kitchen. He sniffed the air and identified olive oil, onion and garlic. What on earth was the girl putting in his eggs? Nevertheless, he resisted the will to go check the cooking. Soon, the stimulating perfume of bacon and ham being fried relaxed his suspicious nature. If it smelled good, it would probably taste good too.

"Where do you want to it, Mr. Creed? Here, in de kitchen or in de dining room?"

"In the kitchen."

He got up and instead of going to the kitchen table quickly surveyed the frying pan.

"What's this!"

"ah… What?" She looked at the frying pan, not understanding the indignation in Creed's rough voice.

"I said I wanted eggs! This ain't eggs; this is hardly a single egg!"

"It… it's two eggs…"

Creed turned to the puzzled girl with dramatic emphasis.

"Two eggs? Two…! Look at me, girl. Take a good look at me. Do I look like I'm on a freakin' diet here? If I ask fer eggs, ya fix me half a dozen eggs. Half a dozen, ya hear me? Hell, I may even accept just five or four, if I ain't hungry. But you don't ever, ever fix me a light-good-fer-nothin'-diet-meal. Are we clear?"

Irbis nodded her head with an embarrassed expression which only further irritated him.

"Now go fix somethin' else while I eat these… these starters. It can't be called nothin' else, this thing."

He grabbed the frying pan and took it to the table where he sat eating the eggs directly from it.

"And what about that coffee?"

Irbis brought a mug and carefully added she didn't know how he liked it, but that most Portuguese men liked it that way, and that she was sorry she didn't know how American men liked it, but if he would bother to explain to her how to do it to his taste then she'd make sure he'd always have it perfect for him. The speech annoyed him, but at least she was interested in learning how to please him. He grunted, sniffed the coffee and got up.

"Com'ere. Ya do it like this."

He quickly fixed two more cups and handed one to Irbis.

"Here, try it. That's how I like my coffee, so make sure it's gonna taste like that next time ya bring me some."

She nodded, tasted it, smiled warily and returned to the cooker to scramble some more eggs. Creed was feeling better, now. True, the girl wasn't perfect, but she was eager to improve and to wait on him properly, so what else could he ask for? Besides, even if the first round of eggs wasn't enough, it not only smelled good, it tasted good, too.

Having eaten, he sat back on the chair and relaxed. Irbis was doing the washing up and he felt a sudden curiosity to check just how well fixed the kitchen was; after all, his bedroom might be in shape, but other things might not. He got up and started with the fridge: it was filled with food and beers. Good. Then he went about opening random cupboard doors, not finding anything at fault, he finished his survey by the bay window, admitting that the pots looked very well in the spot now that they were populated with fresh looking plants. He had also liked the nice looking bowl filled with scented fruit which stood in the middle of the round table; but he definitely didn't like the calendar between the windows, so he took it down and threw it in the trash bin. Irbis, who was finishing the washing up, frowned and glared at the trash bin.

"Ya got a problem?"

Creed made sure his voice warned her that he was not to be meddled with. She swallowed, but her eyes held his gaze without fear and after a few seconds of hesitation she picked up the calendar from the trash bin.

"I buyed it wid my money. I don't put it in your kitchen, but it is my and I say it doesn't go to de trash."

She set her jaw stubbornly and once more held Creed's glare without fear, even if her heart was pounding so hard he wouldn't have needed his heightened senses to hear it. He narrowed his eyes and came one step closer to the girl.

"Ya listen ta me vary carefully, girly. Ya're standin' at the edge, an' ya don't wanna not even squirm 'cause ya might find yarself really wishin' ta die. Ya understand?"

She squeezed the calendar harder against her chest.

"I understand." Her voice was very low, she was trembling somewhat, and her eyes danced nervously while holding the big man's gaze, but there still wasn't the slightest scent of fear coming from her. "I don't put my things in your places. I understand."

Although he could appreciate the girl's guts and realize that her answer was satisfying enough, he didn't feel satisfied. He looked around looking for something else to complain about. Not finding anything, he opened the door to the laundry room, but it was perfectly empty and in order. The pantry was half empty, only a few obvious essentials peeking out from the shelves; he thought it too empty, but last time he had been in the house he had been very clear on keeping expenses to a minimum so he just packed up his growing irritation. He didn't stop his quest, though. He had made a contract with the darned woman and he was determined to keep to it: he wouldn't go about hitting her or even yelling at her for no tangible reason, but if she happened to mess up his house, then he would have a perfect reason to put her through a world of pain.

He went back to the entrance of the kitchen and opened a door to his left, going into the classical looking dining-room. There were a couple of tree-like plants which gave a nice touch, and he noticed the girl had put a HI-FI in a nook of the large cupboard in the place of a TV which used to be there. Before he could say anything, though, he heard her soft but stubborn voice from the door.

"De television is broke. I finded the HI-FI in a empty bedroom and put it here. De TV is in a room to put things away, in de first floor. I didn't want to do nothing widout to tell you."

He grunted, then turned his back on her and opened one of the two windows which opened to the front lawn. Only then did he notice how carefully it had been mowed and trimmed near the house. He stifled a growl and abruptly left through the double door, which faced a wall with a closed door in the middle and a staircase at its right end. He ignored the hall where he was and the living room and went to the other wing of the house. He started by checking the study, with its shelf covered walls and central round table. All the books had been taken off, dusted and aired. Irbis, watching him take off a couple of books and inspect them, spoke in her previous professional voice.

"I taked everything out but put everything in de same place. De computer doesn't work but I don't know many things about computers."

Creed couldn't resist anymore and said the first thing that popped in his head.

"And who the Hell told ya I wanted 'em in the same places, huh?"

The girl's puzzled look irritated him further, but her prompt, innocently honest answer reminded him of the contract and he shut his mouth and cringed his teeth.

"I didn't know… If you don't like dis organization, I'll do a new. How do you want it organized? Do you want like a library? Or maybe by thematics? Or… dis have many books; I can do a database for libraries, I learned to do dem in school. You can find every book more faster!"

He bumped her out of his way and entered the ground floor toilet room. It had a plant, too. Since there was nothing to complain about it, he moved on to the sitting room, with a window to the left side of the house and another to the front lane. There were two large pots filled with fresh green plants. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"What's with all the pots and plants? Ain't I told ya I don't want my money wasted on crap?"

"Yes, Mr. Creed. But de house has many pots and dere is a big sale for spring in de florist. I thought it was more cheap to buy plants in promotion. You have a very big garden wid many trees so I thought you could want some green in de house, too. I have a book wid all de money I spended. Do you want to see?"

Creed narrowed his eyes in silent frustration.

"Yeah, I wanna see it all right. How come ya ain't mentioned it before?"

"I'm sorry. I go get it."

As she left, he felt victorious for finally finding a fault with her: forgetting to show him the expenses book right away! But her professionally half submissive and prompt action, instead of a frightened fully-submissive reaction, diminished his victory. He left the sitting room, ready to continue his survey of the house upstairs, but was checked by Irbis, who was coming out of the study with a commercial diary on her hands.

"Here it is, Mr. Creed."

He grabbed the book without a word and climbed the stairs, approvingly noticing the well brushed and oiled wooden steps and banister. He passed his bedroom door and inspected the room next to it. It was the Rose Room. Its walls were covered in soft pink tonalities and it had dark pink and green motifs on curtains and bed covers. The two windows opened to the right side of the property, but he didn't even check on the private bedroom, which he knew was decorated in pink and green, too. He closed the door without a word and moved on. He hated that room decoration too much to actually bother whether it was properly cleaned or not.

Then he inspected the store room. It was a rectangular room with a single window to the back, and it truly impressed him: not only were the walls, floor and ceiling perfectly cleaned without a single trace of dust or cobwebs, but also every closet and ark had been emptied, thoroughly cleaned and re-stocked with their now-shining contents, whether they were old clothes, toys, dolls, or weird and obnoxious looking trinkets. The TV set was securely stashed away in a box. He couldn't help but admit that the girl was truly efficient.

Next came a small bathroom, the only one upstairs which wasn't part of a bedroom. Decorated in a boring white with a few lonely black streaks, it looked as pristine as anyone could have wished. The dark but somehow freshly aired corridor ended with two doors facing each other. The one to the left had the girl's scent all over it, so it was the room she had chosen to herself. He opened the door on the right. It was the Navy Room, a wide room decorated in blue and white and the only bedroom in the house which didn't have an inner bathroom. It had one single wide window to the back, but Creed was bored of the survey and just looked lazily around and closed the door. Nevertheless, he couldn't resist his curiosity, and although Irbis was standing behind him, he opened her room's door and entered.

The Spring Room had one single window to the front lawn and was decorated in green, red and white. He entered it, registering the neatness of everything and opened the bathroom's door. It also had a window to the front lawn, and its back wall separated it from his own bathroom. He went back to the bedroom and found Irbis glaring at him with an outraged silence. He had been very clear that the only things that could be considered hers were the things she bought with her own money and, for as long as she worked for him, her bedroom and the white mini-van. Those were her only properties; and he was clearly trespassing right now. That knowledge lifted his mood and he sat down on her bed and opened the expense book.

Every day had an annotation, stating if there had been any shopping, where it had been, what had been bought and how much had been spent in each article. It was a boring read, so he just pretended to be checking the numbers, while really congratulating himself over Irbis' sulking chin and dangerous glaring. He could have laughed at her impotent rage, but that would have been an acknowledgement of his conscious trespassing and a breach in the contract, so he just laughed to himself and kept the most serious expression he could muster. He was wondering if she was going to do or say anything that would 'displease' him; if she did, he could call it a breach in contract! He was having fun with this twisted tag game.

"De receipts are in de study. You can check dem and see dat everything is right."

She immediately left the room and went downstairs. He waited for a minute but it was obvious she wasn't coming up again so he went down to the study himself. Her sulking chin gave away her still boiling rage. He had half expected a sweet victorious smile, which would surely have ended the matter in a blood bath; so he was actually pleased that she was still pissed, even if she had managed to kick him out of her bedroom in a subtle 'legal' way, according to their deal.

----------------------------------------------------------

Creed was sitting under a tree in the back of the house and watching Irbis sighing in the middle of her gardening. She was trying to recover a few flower beds, but was planning on adding some aromatic herbs, too. She had asked him if he allowed the changes before buying them, which had added to his after lunch good mood. He closed his eyes and sighed remembering the excellent banquet she had spent the morning preparing: a drink accompanying the starters – bread with butter and garlic, olives and smoked ham and sausages. Then she'd brought a stew with pork meat pieces, clams and fried potato cubes, all wrapped in a thick rich and spiced sauce and accompanied by the contrasting taste of pickles. He had eaten heartily while drinking a well chosen bottle of red wine. Before the meal, she had asked him if she was supposed to eat with him or if she should wait on him and eat either before or after him. He had preferred her company, and had been pleasantly surprised to see her eating and drinking heartily everything included in both starters and main meals. Nevertheless, he had made a point of honour on absolutely out-eating and out-drinking her for a wide margin.

After the main meal, she had brought a fruit salad, which had been very cool and sweet, its taste spiced up from being sprinkled with Port Wine. She filled and ate three delicious small bowls, and he eagerly ate the whole main bowl empty much to her surprise. He was already full to the brim but received the chocolate mousse as if he was starving and was very pleased when she commented on his appetite with a satisfied approbation. He was now feeling sure she'd never again try to feed him wussy diet meals. At the end she brought him a cup of coffee and a tray with an assortment of digestive drinks. The coffee wasn't exactly as he liked it, but he was too indolent to care.

He hadn't been able to refrain himself from complimenting her on an excellent meal. He slowly got up and lazily wondered through the cool shade of the trees in the back of the house, resisting his broken body sleepiness. She didn't take long to clean up the kitchen, and he soon heard her working in the back garden. It had been then that he had sat down next to a tree to watch her and get his own thoughts in order.

He had arrived in a rotten bad mood, but Irbis had been fortunate enough that he'd distracted himself with the house. Now that he had eaten well, though, he felt he could go back and dwell on the reasons for his bad mood without going into a berserker rage; because the one "reason" for his worst moods could indeed drive him into a killing spree. Logan. He closed his eyes. He hated that man so much it was almost insane. He hated him so much that words couldn't even describe it. It was a red hot insane and desperate rage that filled him and then he just couldn't think… and that was always why Logan managed to beat him up in the end. It was really Logan's fault. If the man wasn't such a stupid bastard runt, he wouldn't stop thinking and he'd defeat him without breaking a sweat. As he had done in their last run in. He had kept his hate in check, then.

Irbis cursed in Portuguese and he looked at her but didn't really see her. His memory conjured up the image of a woman half covered in clothes and fishing in a cool Canadian river. Native. He sighed. He hadn't had a choice but to keep his bearings together. Logan would have taken her with him to the X-Chumps, and then what? Settle down, have a pack of cubs? They'd find her. Logan and Native would have been the pet target of every secret agency in the universe, much like Jean Grey and Summers had been Mister Sinister's pet project. And then what? Then what? They'd pick up their kids, they'd turn them into new Weapon Xs… Logan couldn't be so stupid as not to see the reality! He and Native would become nothing more than the breeding mare and stud for the secret agency of the day. Sure, he'll kick about for some time, he'll swear to kill everybody who points out that Native had to die… but sooner or later he'll realize that her death was for the best. Even if he doesn't admit it to anyone, he'll have to realize it was the best thing.

Settle down… They hadn't been born to settle down. And Logan was a jackass for not seeing the obvious. There was no woman for them, no cubs, no family. That was the simple truth which Logan refused. He was always drooling after some chick and whining about how she was too good for him, going down on his hands and knees for them. The image of a blonde woman flickered through his mind and he shook his head. Bonnie had been a one night incident. She had been impressed with him, true, but she didn't know anything about him. Even if she had wanted to run away with him, she'd soon have seen what he really was… and then what? It was good she was dead. It was good he had killed her. And he had killed Native for Logan, too; because they were not meant to settle and raise a brood.

"Mr. Creed?"

He opened his eyes. Irbis was a couple of feet away.

"Whaddya want?"

"I just wanted to say dat I'm going to de florist. I be back in twenty minutes. OK?"

"Whatever. Ain't I told ya I don't wanna be bothered unless it's somethin' important?"

She left. Soon he could hear the engine of the mini-van speeding down the lane. He closed his eyes again, enjoying the heat of the afternoon. Now that he was alone he could finally indulge in a well-deserved nap.

-------------------------------------------------

The day is hot and humid. Most days are. And they start out very cold, too. I found a thermometer in the store room, upstairs, and I actually bothered to check the temperatures. When I get up at 5.30, it's usually around 57º F – and that's cold when you're used to a comfortable 65º F. The warmest temperatures show up late, around 4 pm, and they're usually in the 80's, but rarely reach 90º F. And I long for the sunny days where the mercury would reach the 90º F as early as midday and often climb up to nearly 100º by 2 or 3 pm! But the hottest days, here, are never sunny but cloudy. Monotonous grey clouds cover the sky and are replaced by menacing dark clouds at the end of the day, threatening thunderstorms. You can actually see the distant lightning flashes, sometimes. In the last few days, for instance, thunder or no thunder, rain was often pouring down.

I made the mistake of asking Mr. Creed if these cloudy, rainy summers were normal in the United States. He just laughed at me and said they were normal everywhere except in the Mediterranean, which has a dry summer. He even had the nerve to say that Portugal, Spain and the likes were the ones with freaky weather, not the States. I don't know if what he said about the weather is true or not, but one thing I do know: that man will do and say anything to annoy me. And he always looks so pleased when he manages to irritate me that I could throttle him! And he just keeps that serious straight face, even though I know he's suppressing his mischievous grin, because I can see his yellow eyes glittering with delight. It drives me out of my mind!

Nevertheless, I'm not someone to be toyed with, and I don't care whether he's dangerous or not. There's no point in pretending I'm not listening to him, because he just won't give up until he gets some sort of response from me; and I'm not as suicidal as to openly tell him to stuff it and drop dead, so I decided to play his game. For instance, on the second day he was here, I cooked an omelette fit for three hungry people, filled with well fried garlic, onion, ham, sausages and mushrooms, and seasoned with pepper, parsley and coriander. It smelled marvellously and he loved it: ate his plate clean! And then he congratulated me on the magnificent "Spanish Omelette". I was annoyed and explained to him that confusing Portuguese things with Spanish things is as offensive to Portuguese as confusing American things with British things, or with Cuban and Russian things. He chuckled and I thought that had been the end of it. The next day, though, he said he loved the way I cooked things the Spanish way. If looks could kill, he'd have had a terribly painful death right there and then; as it was he just grinned with that mocking wide grin and I 'swallowed the frog', as we say it back home, and planned my revenge.

Next morning, as soon as he entered the kitchen frowning over some strange smell, I presented him with my sweetest smile and placed in his front what I called a truly Spanish Omelette; I added that I had made it on purpose for him since he liked Spanish recipes so much and I happened to know a few. Obviously, what was on that plate was just a little something I had concocted: an omelette with too little salt and too much pepper filled with an obnoxious mix of nearly raw onion and garlic, sliced cabbage, tomato, cheese and olives. He looked at me and I just asked whether he really liked Spanish Omelettes or if I had misunderstood… and he sat down and started eating it, saying it was a very interesting recipe. I hadn't dreamed he'd actually try to eat that thing, so I quickly drove the last nail in. After a couple of uncharacteristically shy forkfuls, I asked him if I should continue doing Spanish recipes for breakfast… or if he preferred the less interesting Portuguese recipes. I considered myself avenged when he grunted and pushed the plate away, telling me to fix him something from whatever nationality for as long as it was edible. That same day, though, he found something else to get at me, and I was damned if I was going to let him get away with it.

It's terribly childish, I know, but it's also fun. Every meal we eat together there's always something he's bound to say to annoy me, and I'm constantly planning ways to turn the tables on him. I can't forget he's a killer, though. Not that his usually serious face and cold angry eyes could let me forget it. Sometimes he says something that annoys me and I can see in his eyes that it isn't just his twisted joking spirit, so I just stay put and wait till his mood is better… or I'm careful to set a limit in such a way as won't aggravate him. But he's usually in a good mood at meal times, and very talkative, too. After all, killer or not, he's only human, and he can't possibly be mad at the world every single minute of the day!

On the day before he left, he didn't go out for a spin on his bike, as he usually did. Instead, he spent the entire day following me around and nagging me over how I did this instead of that, and how I should have done things this or that way, or I don't even know anymore. And no matter what I said or did, I just couldn't shake him off. Finally, I just turned to him and said 'OK, I give up; you win. Happy now?' I guess he wasn't expecting that: he laughed out loud and then looked at me with the widest naughtiest smile. He was positively beaming with joy at my capitulation in that leg of the game. So what could I do but just forget my annoyance and irritation and laugh with him? Even if he was laughing at me! Not to mention he stopped the nagging after that, too.

Mr. Creed has left a week ago. The house gets a bit empty without him, especially at the meals. I often wish he had a family or friends or whatever who lived in the house with him; but on the other hand, I like the quiet and silence. So sometimes I'm glad I'm alone in the house, and sometimes I wish there were more people living here. Wishes aside, though, I'll probably stay here all on my own for at least another three weeks or a month, if not longer, because I doubt Mr. Creed will return any time sooner.

And it's OK. I'm getting used to living in Wausau. The weather doesn't really bother me, even if I miss my hot dry summer. I've also bought some books and grammars of English for foreigners and I'm studying hard to improve my spoken English, not to mention I'm thinking up things to keep me busy from sunrise to sunset… My aim, right now, is to fix myself some sort of stable living and a reason to live. Something that will diminish this pain, this longing for my family, my friends, my former life… something that will help me get up in the morning without the weight of the loss. But I often wonder, when I'm in bed at night, I often wonder if I'm ever going to feel alive again.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading and reviewing.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


End file.
